


An Alpha's Care

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biological inconsistencies, Caring Mycroft Holmes, Dark Sherlock Holmes, Domestic, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Mpreg, Mycroft in Love, Nice John Watson, Reformed Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Someone shows up at Mycroft's doorstep on a stormy and rainy night and the Iceman's life changes forever as he tries to compensate for his brother's mistake and preserve the Holmes lineage.(This story is now COMPLETE)
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran (mentioned) (Past references), Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 75
Kudos: 167





	1. Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> Please note  
> 1\. This fic won't be Sherlock friendly.  
> 2\. JohnLock happens at the end. No heavy smut there.  
> 3\. Predominantly a Mycroft and Jim fic  
> 4\. Contains extensive mpreg and detailed childbirth process

It was a slightly disturbing day, even for the likes of a calm and composed, mostly unruffled Mycroft Holmes. Wealthy and powerful, success kissing his toes and valuable connections in high places falling along his way like bountiful blessings, he was, at the age of forty, a rather accomplished and satisfied man.

Only two things bothered him from time to time. One, his brother and the dangerous, unhinged lifestyle he led. But that was slowly settling down and getting better with time, and with John Watson’s presence. John was a beta, calm and stable, and that was what _Sherlock needed_.

The second was the way James Isaac Moriarty had suddenly disappeared. The Napoleon of the underworld, criminal extraordinaire, brainy to a point where Mycroft felt he was the perfect combination of Sherlock’s brilliance and eclectic adventurousness and Mycroft’s own systematic intelligence and organizing skills, there was no way he had shot himself in the mouth and ended there. The fact that his body was never found was an even bigger proof that something had slipped under the radar. He had questioned Sherlock but for some reason his younger brother had remained tight-lipped and reticent about it, choosing silence over explanation.

Not that Mycroft could complain about the way things had turned out. How could he when Moriarty’s surrender and subsequent disappearance had fetched him the coveted Knighthood. He was _Sir Mycroft Holmes now_ , he was also part of Her Majesty the Queen’s privy council, and it would be a massive lie if he were to say he didn’t owe this to Moriarty’s demise and the work he and Sherlock had done later to dismantle the notorious criminal’s web.

Still, sometimes a weird thought itched at the back of his mind – Mycroft, you don’t know the entire picture. And Mycroft hated being in the dark about anything, that was his pet peeve.

On that day, Mycroft had heard that Sherlock had been captured in Serbia. Of course there was no threat to his life, at least not immediately, and Mycroft did have a plan to rescue him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. He wondered how his sibling was holding up.

That was the day, after nearly two years, that he had got a text from Sebastian Moran. Per the agreement with Moriarty when he surrendered his information and assets, Colonel Moran had been allowed to leave England and settle down in a country of his choice. He had chosen USA.

The text reflected none of the goodwill that Mycroft had managed to build up with the ace sniper at the time of his departure, where the colonel had been allowed to take a considerable amount of wealth and other assets with him to start a new life, make a fresh beginning.

_I hope you and your brother pay a hundred times over for the misdeeds that never got reported anywhere. I have to say, I curse the day we came into contact with you - SM_

Mycroft had winced at the bitterness and anger in those words. He had called back but the number had been disconnected by then.

Then there was this rather horrible dream he had dreamt that morning, _very early morning_ in fact. He had seen James Moriarty in it and the man was crying out for help, as he sank into something Mycroft couldn’t quite see. Mycroft had tried to do so, extending a helping hand towards James, when the omega had gone poof in the air. It had hit Mycroft like a bullet in the gut, his inability to grab on to a man who was drowning in something, someone who was down and out and needed him for survival. Even after waking up and working through the day, he just couldn’t shake off the dream/nightmare _. It’s just my alpha instincts that drove me to action_ , he thought to himself as he sipped his brandy and coffee, _otherwise why would I care about a dead criminal, omega or not?!_

The loud sound of a thunderclap made him jump and he sat up straighter in his chair, eyes on the window pane which was getting drenched by the sudden torrential downpour. “Bloody London weather,” he sighed and muttered, “Raining cats and dogs at the end of October.”

“Sir?”

He turned, “Yes Mrs. Devon?”

His tenured and devoted housekeeper looked a bit worried, “It’s nearly nine sir. What about dinner? Should I reheat it? It’s been an hour since I served it at the table.”

“Um…no,” Mycroft said, “My men outside, have they eaten?”

Mycroft always had a team of four operatives stationed outside his house. It was part of his security detail, along with remote surveillance and state of the art security system like access controls, burglar traps and anti-intrusion alerts. Not willing to let those men and women, who worked in shifts and patrolled the area 24/7, sit in a car and eat takeout, Mycroft had allowed them the use of his outhouse and even built a kitchenette there, in case they wanted to cook or heat up a meal they’d brought from home.

“I am not giving away this food to them,” Mrs. Devon said, “What is the point? I have cooked for one, yes a little bit extra perhaps, but it won’t suffice for four people. Besides, why are you not eating? Are you not well, sir?”

She had the liberty to scold him if needed and question him when the right moment arose. He didn’t mind that but he was reluctant to tell her the truth either. “I will eat, maybe in half hour or so. You can retire to your quarters, I don’t need anything else for the evening.”

For a second it appeared she was going to argue, but eventually she didn’t. “Goodnight sir,” she said and walked out, holding her head high and walking briskly.

An hour later, Mycroft walked to the kitchen. He had no intentions of eating that night so he was intent upon storing the dinner for the next day, in Tupperware boxes, and hoping Mrs. Devon forgave him for this. His mind kept going back to Sherlock again and again. While they were not going to kill him, they would sure try to break him and for that starvation and lack of sleep were two quick ways.

Suddenly he thought he saw some movement around the kitchen window. Intrigued, he moved towards that window, gripping the revolver he always kept in his pocket, be it outdoors or indoors, day or night. He tried to see who was outside but the rain prevented him from doing so, the spray too heavy and visibility too low. “Might be one of the men,” he muttered, fishing his phone out of his pocket to call the shift-lead on night duty, Steve Stinton. But before he could press the button, he heard a noise at the backdoor. Yes, it was a noise and yes, someone was there. Mycroft was alert in a second, aware that whoever it was had to be someone of exceptional intelligence to get past the security team and remote surveillance.

“Sherlock, it must be Lockie,” he exclaimed, hope flaring up in his heart, “The devious boy! He escaped from a Serbian prison, really!?!”

Still, Mycroft was careful as ever and opened the door fully prepared for an assault. He was armed, he had worn his bullet-proof vest, and he had the little remote in his pocket which could be used to alert his security team and a team back at the Mi6 headquarters that he had been compromised. One could never be too careful, especially in the line of work he was in!

The door opened, the rain came in, and along with it came in someone who would indelibly change Mycroft Holmes’ life forever.

“MORIARTY!!!”

He blinked once, twice, nope the picture wouldn’t change. It was James Moriarty and he was in bad shape, pretty much like in the dream Mycroft had that morning. He was pale, soaked through, unsteady on his feet and seemed to be in some pain or discomfort. He had an arm extended, as if expecting some aid from the taller man standing before him, his big dark eyes pleading in a way.

“My-cro….”

That was all Moriarty managed to croak out before he lurched forward. Mycroft’s arms came up by instinct and he caught the criminal mastermind in his arms before he could hit the ground face first.

***

Mycroft was quite sure he was still dreaming because there was no way any of this could have really happened. Here he was, standing next to the bed and staring helplessly and nervously at an unconscious James Moriarty who was lying on his bed, shivering under double blankets. The supposedly dead criminal was alive and well and for some reason had showed up at his doorstep in a distressed condition. How could this be possible?!

He couldn’t believe he had carried the former criminal up to his bedroom in his arms, bride-style, then stripped him of all the wet clothing and wiped him down. Neither was it believable that when he had seen Moriarty naked, he had felt arousal and desire after a long, long time.

His eyes were glued to the Irishman’s face and he marveled at how pretty he was, despite the miserable condition he was in. Clear, unlined skin, smooth and tanned slightly, a perfect heart shape, full and reddened lips, beautifully arched brows, mile long lashes that fluttered slightly. _He hadn’t noticed before that Moriarty was a very attractive man!_ He stared…….until the sound of the intercom buzzing made him briefly turn his attention away from Moriarty and answer it. It was Steve Stinton, the security lead for the night and he sounded a trifle worried. “Sir Holmes, Dr. Stella Brodie is here to see you, says you needed her presence urgently. If I might suggest sir, with your permission, that we should also call the Mi6 medical team in case you are not feeling too well…..”

“No, it’s no emergency. I need some information and she is visiting as an old college friend.”

“I see. We shall let her in then.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Mycroft punched the keys to open the front door and texted Stella. _Come up to the bedroom, master bedroom, I am right there – MH_

A cheeky response came within seconds as he head her heels clattering on the stairwell. _You are sixteen years too late Crofty, I am married now – SB_

In any other situation Mycroft might have appreciated the humor but a soft moan from Moriarty reminded him why she was there. So the moment she entered the room, smile on her lips, Mycroft literally grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bedside.

“Oh,” she gasped, “What happened?”

“How should I know,” Mycroft said, “I thought you’d tell me.”

“I will be able to but it’s strange that you have no idea what’s wrong with your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?! Whatever made you think so?”

“What made me?” She asked as she began to check on the unconscious brunette, “He is naked and in _your bed_ , in _your bedroom_ , _your house_ , and the way you sounded when you called me showed plenty of anxiety. All of this translates into feelings and I am sure we don’t have that for random strangers. Please don’t tell me he is one of the operatives. If he is, where did you send him that…..wait, oh!”

“What-What h-happened???” Mycroft was aware he was uncharacteristically nervous. For all their history, he didn’t want Moriarty to die in his house and his watch.

She gave him a peculiar look, her lips curling downwards in displeasure. Her tone was terse when she spoke. “I have known you for two decades Mycroft and consider myself one of the very few friends you have. At least you could have _told me_. And how _could you even_ push him to this….listen this is going to cause some scandal, unless you want me to treat him here then I would need some supplies and help.” When he stared at her, bewildered and wondering what she was babbling about, she made the rather shattering declaration. “For Christ’s sake Crofty, he is a pregnant omega and he tried to kill himself. If you hurry and give me the supplies or take him to the hospital, we can still save both mother and child.”

***

Mycroft was quite sure that the only thing that saved the day, and Jim Moriarty, was the Irishman’s good fortune, Stella’s wizardry with her treatment she gave and Mycroft’s own steady nerves which were the result of years of work at Mi6. He was used to handling crisis.

“He is out of danger now,” Stella said after almost five hours had passed, “Still, my assistant Gwen will be here until morning. I shall be back around nine to check on him. In case something changes, either of you please call me.”

Mycroft stared unblinking at Jim, no longer looking at him as Moriarty but as simply a young Irishman of thirty, by the name ‘Jim’. The still unconscious brunette seemed better now, though the color was yet to return to those cheeks. He had an IV strapped on to one of his arms, a heart monitor strapped to his chest, and a variety of medicines rested on the nightstand next to him. Thanks to the nature of his job and the sudden requirement of medical help, either to him or his team, Mycroft had a fully-stocked infirmary at his place. This was the first time it had been so extensively used though.

“I shall wash these,” Gwen offered. There were a pile of sheets, plus towels and wash cloths, stained red. “Thank you,” Mycroft said gratefully, “I shall show you the laundry room after I see Dr. Brodie out.”

The rain had stopped and it was almost 3 am when Stella and Mycroft stood at the front door. “Do I have to ask,” she said, “Though I suppose it’s none of my business. But it _is_ your child and that is _your_ boyfriend, right?”

Mycroft was caught between a rock and a hard place. He knew that Stella would come back and check on James and this time James would be awake. He remembered Sherlock telling him ‘Jim is unstable’ and now he was pregnant on top of that. The elder Holmes sibling was sure Jim Moriarty, his fragile state, wasn’t going to be able to withstand a slight, any intrusive questions or any other form of embarrassment, especially when it came to the paternity of his child or the condition he had put himself in.

His gentlemanly side won easily over the roguish ‘How do I care about a baby I had had not even put into his womb’ side and he answered emphatically, “Of course. It’s mine.”

***

Mycroft had slept only for a few hours, maybe four or five, when he was woken by the intern Gwen. Opening his eyes, he saw her gesture towards the bed and Mycroft shot up from the chair he was sleeping in. The bed was empty! Where was Jim? “Oops, _sorry,_ didn’t mean to startle you,” Gwen said, taken aback by his reaction to the empty bed, “I wanted to wake you up to good news. Your partner woke up ten minutes ago. His vitals were stable and he looked much better, hence I took off the heart-monitor and allowed him to use the bathroom by himself. He will be _fine_.”

“The IV…..?”

“The base has wheels, he can use the bathroom and move around within the room or the balcony,” she explained patiently, “The IV bag is still strapped on to his arm and the needle is still in place. He’s gone inside with it……oh look, _there he is_!” She smiled as if she was greeting a small child who had just got better after a bout of flu. Jim emerged from the bathroom, walking a bit gingerly, eyes on the floor, gently pushing the IV stand along. Mycroft immediately stepped forward to help and even pulled the covers back on the bed as a tired looking Jim got back in there with a relieved sigh.

“Needed to brush, wash my face, use the toilet,” he murmured. “Drink this water, and take these two medicines please,” Gwen said, “I will get a light breakfast for you. You can’t have all these meds on an empty stomach, they will all come back out.”

“I am not hungry,” Jim said as soon as she had left.

“What were you trying to do James, you could have ended up dead along with the innocent baby?” Mycroft was not one to beat around the bush. Relieved that Jim was awake now and much better than the night before, he had decided to focus on the burning question in his mind. _Why had he done something so stupid?_ The answer he got, however, shocked the five senses out of him and made him wish he hadn’t asked the question in the first place.

“What else was I supposed to do after Sherlock abandoned me?”


	2. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is safe, so is the baby but what happens now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder: NOT Sherlock-friendly

_“What else was I supposed to do after Sherlock abandoned me?”_

The words rang in Mycroft’s ear like an echo until he thought his head would explode from it. Narrowing his light grey eyes, he stared at the man who was lying in bed, grief and pain and suffering etched clearly on his face. Still, the ferocity in those doe-like brown eyes remained, speaking of a man who was once so feared that the very mention of his name sent shivers down spines and even seasoned operatives balked at the thought of facing him.

Naturally Mycroft had a tiny streak of doubt in him as he heard those words. While he was aware of his brother’s flaws, he also knew his strengths. His sibling never lacked integrity. _Sherlock impregnating Jim? Sherlock abandoning a pregnant omega? Sherlock caring so little about his own child, the only Holmes heir?_ Somehow it didn’t sound right and Mycroft wanted to ensure he didn’t step into some emotional, manipulative scheme of the former mastermind. Deciding not to upset him further, he asked the questions in a roundabout manner. “When was the last time you saw Sherlock? When did this pregnancy start? I was given to believe you had shot yourself in the mouth and…..”

“And you believed it?” Jim said bitterly, “Don’t insult my intelligence and yours.”

“I had my doubts but….”

  
“But you _never_ tried to find out. Too busy collecting laurels and kudos eh? SIR Mycroft Holmes and all that.”

“James, you need to calm down and tell me everything. See, there are two things I know and I don’t need any validation on them. One, you never intended to truly kill yourself or the child because you came over to me before any serious damage could happen. Two, you trust me enough to put yourself in my care, to look after you and ensure the wellbeing of the baby. That means, we aren’t meeting here as enemies or adversaries, but as allies. Yes, I agree this baby is a Holmes baby and I care about it…..just as I care about his mother, which is you. So you have to trust me and tell me what’s been going on.”

“I-I am tired…..”

“Sorry, I hadn’t considered that. You sleep, we will talk when you’re ready.”

The conversation came to a halt when Stella showed up and Gwen also brought some breakfast for everyone. Stella was annoyingly cheerful and on several occasions she mentioned how happy she was that her aloof friend Crofty was finally with someone and about create a new life. Mycroft kept cringing while Jim remained in his position on the bed, like a wilted flower who didn’t care what was going on around him.

“Well?” Mycroft asked when she was done, some breakfast had been consumed, and Jim was sleeping once again.

“Baby is fine, mother is fine,” Stella answered, checking her notes on her iPad, “But they need a lot of care and rest, especially him. He took some meds to cause an abortion but didn’t take the right dosage, thank God, and hence I was able to curb the damage. The way babies are when they’re in there,” she patted Jim’s stomach gently, “They will leech off the mother’s body, take all the nutrients and vitality they need for survival, and if the reproductive system is healthy and the baby is developing normally, then they are the last ones to be affected. I would be more worried about your partner. He is fairly weak.”

Almost by an alpha’s instinct, Mycroft’s hand went to Jim’s forehead and he placed his palm there. He had no idea why but he needed to feel that contact, just to _assure himself_ that Jim was fine and to assure Jim that _he was there_. Stella smiled at that sight and said, “I cannot give him too many meds because of the pregnancy, so he will recover slowly. He has lost a lot of blood and some tissue damage has also happened, along with a hormonal imbalance. Good food, timely meals, plenty of fluids, lots of sleep, bedrest for at least a week with me checking on him once a day, every day. I suggest you keep a nurse for the day and one for the night, unless you want to be the caregiver.”

That was when Mycroft remembered – Sherlock. Serbia. Prisoner. Rescue mission.

“I may need to go away for a few days.”

“Then keep the nurse.”

“Can you recommend one?”

“Sure. The daytime one will be a woman, the night time one will be a man. Both betas, so don’t worry about anything.”

“What?” Mycroft had a slight delay in connecting the dots before he raised his eyebrows, “Of course, that is an added advantage.”

“I am sure you had to protect this one from many alphas,” Stella concluded as she rapidly noted some thing, “Very pretty. There is something about him which is very charming, even in this condition he does radiate a very different kind of charm. You are a lucky gander Crofty!” She walked out of the room, Mycroft closely following her, “He will need a few tests but that can happen after a week, when he’s stable. I will have those done at my clinic and also drive him there, just in case you’re not around.”

“Thanks a million Stella….I really am grateful.”

“Shut up. No gratitude needed for something that’s supposed to be my job, as a doctor and as a friend. Just be grateful that he didn’t end up seriously damaging himself. Don’t fight with him or distress him in this condition my friend. Omega pregnancies, especially with male omegas, is delicate. They are able to bear children but their system, hormones, pheromones, their psychology, those aren’t as tailor made for childbirth and childbearing as females are. As an omega woman, I know mine was difficult when I had Hal. The only time I wished I was an alpha woman instead.”

Mycroft almost said ‘I didn’t harm him, I saved him, I’d never hurt an omega, a _pregnant_ omega’ but words fell short on his tongue when he remembered the backstory. Jim was yet to share it. “Yes I will remember, won’t happen again,” he replied in his usual stoic manner.

***

“Yes Anthea, just a handful of us will know, yes, yes, the names I have mentioned in the memo, I shall start early morning tomorrow…..it won’t take more than a week, the job will either conclude in a week or won’t happen at all,” Mycroft was talking softly as he sat in a corner of his bedroom, at the desk and chair he had moved there, the table lamp being the only source of illumination in the large room. His laptop was open in front of him, an iPad was right next to it, and he was working on both. There were three phones on the desk, two of which were cell phones and the third a satellite phone. An additional monitor stood at the edge of the desk, which gave him the output of some Mi5 missions, visuals and recordings.

It was nine in the evening and Jim was still sleeping. He had woken once, to drink water and nibble on an apple before dozing off again. Despite the fact that the male nurse was here, Mycroft couldn’t leave Jim alone and work from his home office downstairs.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement on the bed. The lump under the covers moved and then the covers slid off as the omega sat up, yawning noisily; Mycroft then saw the slumped form of Jim silhouetted against the backdrop of the window which let in a stream of moonlight. “I will call you back,” Mycroft said quickly and disconnected. He hadn’t told anyone but Anthea about the situation at home and somehow his capable assistant had not reacted, instead lauding him for doing the right thing. Mycroft was ever grateful to her for that, the last thing he needed was more drama and dialogue.

He looked at the just woken man, whatever he could see from the distance in the dimly lit room. Jim didn’t appear to be moving, aside from stretching his arms once. When no word was spoken for over a minute he softly called out, “James?”

“I am hungry.”

“Okay, I’ll ask Mrs. Devon to get you dinner.”

“Like, _very_ hungry. Give me something right away.”

Mycroft was a bit taken aback. He stood up from his chair, wondering what this meant, until Jim softly whispered, “Please, _anything_. My head’s spinning.”

“Oh, okay,” Mycroft understood the condition. Pregnant omegas needed more nourishment and frequent small meals as a baby grew within them. Jim had hardly eaten all day, maybe since the previous day, and he was famished. “I have some chocolate here, hold on.”

After handing Jim some wafer and chocolates, a small tetra pack of juice and water, Mycroft turned on a few more lights and walked out of the room. He went downstairs to ask his cook and housekeeper to serve dinner, making up his mind to eat in the bedroom with Jim, off a tray. When he entered the kitchen he found the nurse there too, sipping coffee and eating cookies with Mrs. Devon. As Mycroft instructed her about dinner, she briefly nodded and went about her task, while the nurse, whose name was Matthew, quickly went upstairs to be with Jim in case he needed anything. Finding himself alone with his trusted employee, Mycroft finally asked the question.

“You know _who_ he is, right?”

“Yes. I do remember those days, they weren’t that long back really. I work for you, so I do know a bit about such things and certain people.”

“Does it bother you that he’s here?”

“Sir, if there is something I know and am sure of, it is the fact that you will always do the right thing and never put anyone close to you in peril. I am not bothered really, but I am a bit anxious in the sense that he is not in the best stable phase right now. If there are any instructions for me, please do let me know and they will be followed to a T.”

“I won’t be around for a week.”

“Okay.”

“You have kids and grandkids, right?”

“Yes, three children and four grandchildren so far. In fact, one is through my son, who is also an omega male. Therefore I will be able to look after him properly and ensure he gets what he needs. Is that what you want me to do in your absence?”

“Very much so,” Mycroft was very relieved upon hearing that, “I had expected nothing less from you. Just one word of caution, if anyone else visits or gets to see him, including my security team, just tell them his name is Richard Brook and he is my partner. That is precisely what I shall be telling everyone else as well, so keep up the same story and the same facts for me, will you?”

***

“Sherlock has been captured in Serbia,” Jim said in an emotionless and flat voice as they ate their dinner, “Maupertuis is responsible for this. He is doing this to avenge me, the wretch has no idea I am alive and well…..and pregnant.”

“I am aware of Sherlock’s situation,” Mycroft said, “I intend to get him out of there, which means I won’t be around for a week. Will you be all right? Are you okay with that?”

“He is your brother and is doing your dirty job,” Jim shrugged, chewing on the chicken, “I suppose you should have left already but I think I slowed you down.” He looked up at Mycroft and suddenly the Mi6 chief saw a young man who looked far younger than his real age, almost like a college freshman, innocent and vulnerable. For a second he was almost inclined to believe that Moriarty and Richard Brook were two different people. “I suppose you want to know my side of the story before you ask him for his side, right?” Jim asked, concentrating on the pudding after finishing the main course.

Mycroft looked at him closely. He was eating well, hungrily, so the appetite had returned and that in itself was a good sign of recovery. “Yes,” he said, “To say I am curious and anxious to know what is going on is an understatement. As you perhaps know it yourself, I am not an impatient man, but on matters like this I need to at least know where I stand. I mean, you wouldn’t have come here had there been no reasons behind it.”

Jim sighed, “It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Coming here?”

“No, taking those meds. But I was just…..”

“Did you guys have a fight?”

“It’s best if I start from the beginning.”

“I am all ears James and if I have to stay up all night to listen and understand, I sure will. Tell me everything. Believing your version or not is up to me but I assure you I will give you a chance.”

Jim swallowed and nodded. Then he cleared his throat and began.

“Sherlock and I had started a dangerous game where I had put him at risk multiple times but never really had the inclination to finish off the job. Similarly he too had a few chances when he could have actually put me down but he didn’t even come close to that. Somewhere amidst all this we got closer and closer until we realized we shared a love-hate relationship and Sherlock didn’t really want to see me dead or in prison. I didn’t want him to fail either. After months of debating, discussing and fighting and even coming to blows, we-we shared a heat together and then…..he made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure why he felt a pang of jealousy at the last sentence. Imagining Sherlock and Jim together, Jim sweaty, flushed and naked and begging, Sherlock taking him again and again in a possessive and fierce manner, didn’t bide well for his psyche. He closed both his eyes forcefully, trying to block out the images that had built up.

Jim didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture or restlessness and went on with his story. “He said that if we were meant to be together I should give up what I was notorious for. He assured me of a new identity, a new life, a clean slate and a fresh and unprejudiced beginning. I was actually beginning to get a bit tired of the life I led, friendless and always besieged by clients and aides who were leeching off me most of the time, the sword hanging over my head always, and I agreed to Sherlock’s plan. I kept enough money for me to live like a king in this life and surrendered the rest, along with information about the web and several other criminals. Then, as Sherlock faked his own death along with me, we went off on a joint mission.”

“Jesus,” Mycroft exclaimed, “You were helping him throughout?”

“Yes. But from the shadows. I couldn’t let anyone know I still existed. It could have been fatal for both of us and….and the work we were collaborating on.”

“Christ,” Mycroft couldn’t help but feel a surge of annoyance, “My brother never told me a thing about you or….this.”

“I daresay you guys don’t tell each other everything because neither of you really wholly trust the other,” Jim snorted, shaking his head, “I am surprised you even talk to each other from time to time. But who am I to judge you, when I come from a similar background myself. Anyways, I fell victim to the same heartless bastard who doesn’t care much about his parents….or his brother….it perhaps runs in your family, being uncaring and insensitive, isn’t it?”

“Not a fair judgment James,” Mycroft tried to remain calm, “But yes, I agree we are different.”

“I kept asking him what becomes of us when we return to London and he kept avoiding the answer,” Jim suddenly tensed, as if reliving those moments were hard on him, “Then this happened. I became pregnant accidentally, some screw up with birth-control and the heat arriving earlier than usual. The moment I told him his entire demeanor changed. He told me coldly, so very coldly…..”

Jim paused. Mycroft took deep breaths. Despite all the history they shared, he could still not support the way Sherlock had just dropped Jim when the latter was pregnant and vulnerable.

“He told me to get it _aborted_. He told me _John_ was the best partner for him. He told me he _never_ loved me, he was just fascinated by my body and my mind. He said, he was now _bored_.”


	3. A mini-storm in Serbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft rescues Sherlock in Serbia and returns home to an amusing sight

“I know I was supposed to get you out of this but it wasn’t a cakewalk really,” Mycroft said in his usual haughty but measured manner, leading his haggard of a brother, who looked like one of the homeless drifters he patronized in London, out of the Serbian prison, “Learning Serbian, it took me six hours, then tolerating all the people, the chatter…..”

“What do you really want from me?” Sherlock snarled. Despite his condition he was not down and out, in fact his deep voice held the same disdain, pride and authority as always.

Mycroft wondered for a moment if that was the tone he had used while shooing off Jim. He was tempted to speak about Jim, make a mention and watch Sherlock’s reaction, see if he took the bait or not. But his mind overruled his heart! _No Mycroft, don’t, this is not the time, you aren’t out of danger zone yet and Sherlock is weak and injured_. “I am not asking for much, just that a simple thank you would have been nice,” Mycroft said, ushering his brother into a van, “I have risked myself and my reputation and office too, legwork done after what seems like ages. But never mind me and my efforts.”

“Don’t be dramatic now. You certainly took your time. I have been there for two and half weeks.”

“And I heard you got too ahead of yourself and landed into hot water.”

“I was doing what I thought was best for my work, for the assignment I had taken on. I had taken risks before and they paid off. By law of averages, some things just don’t work out and this happened. Incidentally, you got the Knighthood and I got myself thrown in prison. Maybe a mere thank you has been long overdue from your side, brother mine.”

“Let’s just square it off then, I don’t expect a thank you nor do I say it myself. Yes, I admit I have done most of the brainwork and influencing while you did the travel and legwork. But one couldn’t be replaced by the other so we both did this, together. If I got my knighthood, you got what you wanted, a new adventure, the credit of bringing Moriarty’s web down and……”

He paused. Unwittingly he had let out the _name Moriarty_.

Sherlock’s reaction, visible through the curtain of shaggy brown mane and shaggier beard, was still quite evidently one of wistful sadness. His green eyes turned glassy, the gaze went into a faraway mode, his lips quivered just a bit while his nails dug crescent moons into his palms.

Mycroft noticed _. So Jim was not telling a complete lie then_.

“So what now?” Sherlock said after several minutes had passed and the van was almost out of the danger zone by then, “You go back to London and I carry on my work, my last leg of work, in Latin America. I have to visit Columbia, Peru and Mexico before a small visit to Texas, USA.”

Mycroft’s heckles rose immediately. Texas! “Is that where Sebastian Moran, Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran a.k.a. Chief of Staff for the Spider, now resides in a sprawling ranch, next to a meat packing factory that he also owns, along with a thriving pub in Austin?”

Sherlock held his nerve admirably well but Mycroft’s seasoned eyes picked up the slight erratic breathing. “Is that a question or an answer or a question within a question?” He asked, staring out of the window.

_Probably you wanna know where he is, after you guys split up. You wish to find out if he has truly aborted the little life you put in him or not._ Mycroft quickly stopped his thoughts from going down that path. His alpha instincts were going on an overdrive in terms of protectiveness and anger, he was suspecting and slicing up his brother’s character for someone who was….a relative stranger, a former mastermind no less. Did his pregnancy absolve Jim of all his wrongdoings in the past? Was he to be trusted? But so far whatever he had said sort of seemed to be the truth. “You might not want to poke that animal Sherlock,” he said, “I am saying this out of some concerns I have, for you especially…..”

He knew his brother would never trust anything without data so he provided the proof. “Here, look at this text I got a week ago,” Mycroft held the phone before Sherlock, but didn’t hand it over to him, “No need to take it from me, it’s my official phone. I don’t suppose you have any need for it aside from the message, which you can easily see on the screen.”

Sherlock scowled. He had taken off his shoes. A sour smell had filled the car.

“How can I be sure you’re not hiding four or six other messages from me, besides this?” The younger man asked, taking deep breaths, “If this is the only text then I feel…….He is just sore about what happened and that he didn’t get the better of us. We chased him away.”

“Not about _Jim’s death_?”

“Jim? Since when did you start calling Moriarty as _Jim_?”

Mycroft cursed his mistake but maintained his impeccable manners, “That is inconsequential. But if you should want the reason, well, I said the name as you like to call him. You had stopped calling him Moriarty a long time ago. Now, what do you think about this message? If the colonel was upset then why did he choose to wait a year and half to send us this? There’s nothing we have done in the recent past to him, have we?”

“Best to ask him that, he sent the message,” Sherlock said in a gruff manner, “I am not going there to meet him though, I want to go after Irene and ensure she gets behind bars. She has been living in Boston for a while now, under a pseudonym.”

“She still holds a torch for you?”

“No. she holds a torch only for money and opportunities. She is an alpha woman. Two alphas are a very bad combination and it can only end in a heartbreak or bloodbath.” Sherlock leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. His face was swollen, there was dried blood all over him, he was clearly sore, in pain and half-starved. Mycroft felt a bit bad to push this on his brother but he couldn’t help but ask the final question, for now.

“How about an alpha and an omega?”

***

Mycroft felt two conflicting emotions as he returned home nine days later. He was relieved and happy that Sherlock was not only safely out of Serbia and on his way to Mexico but also the younger Holmes had recovered well with the treatment and care he got from the Mi6 medical unit and made remarkable progress in just two days. At the same time he felt guilty for having left Jim alone for so long. He would have loved to check on him in between but the classified mission and the confidentiality and security of the whole job meant he had to be incommunicado. He hoped Jim would understand.

_What’s wrong with you Mycroft, you know he will understand. He knows your work and how things move there. Plus, you are not responsible for your brother’s mistake or decision._

Still, Mycroft couldn’t deny he was near ecstatic as he entered the property. His fingers closed around a large packet on his lap, a small present for Jim. As the car slowed down, the first thing he saw made his eyes almost bulge out. His security team was seated around Jim, right there on the front lawns, with a variety of items like laptops, ropes, nails, guns and several other strange looking objects. Jim appeared to be healthy and happy and the Mi6 operatives seemed to be eating out of his hands. Soon he saw Mrs. Devon hurry out with a tray of coffee and tea, beaming smile on her face.

“Tim,” he asked his trusted and tenured chauffeur, “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Brook is teaching survival tricks and giving tips on handling dangerous situations,” Tim said, taking a notebook and pen from the dashboard, “He is quite a clever young gent.”

“What are you doing?”

“I will be _joining_ them.”

Before Mycroft could react, the sixty year old hurried over to join the rest. Mycroft, eyes wide in shock, stepped out of the car and looked balefully at his bags. “And here I thought I was supposed to get some help with those and some coffee too, _perhaps_.”

Still, he couldn’t deny that he felt happy to see Jim settled in and comfortable, smiling again.

He went indoors, largely unnoticed, almost running into a young brown haired and green eyed woman. She was attractive and cheerful and had a bright smile on her face. “Sir Holmes,” she even took a small bow as if he was royalty, “Pleased to meet you sir. I thought I wouldn’t get a chance. Thank Heavens I came to collect my items today.”

“James’ caregiver?”

“Yes I _am the nurse_ but he didn’t really let me do a real job here,” she happily chatted and he listened, not getting annoyed for a change because he was curious about what might have transpired while he was away, “He was quite steady on his feet and a good patient, taking his meals on time, sleeping as much as was needed, cooperating for all checkups and tests, even taking his bath on his own. I was mostly a companion and ran some errands for him, that was about it. It was like a paid vacation, spending time with him….I mean with Mr. Brooke.” Mycroft could see the faint blush on her cheeks and knew she was gushing because she was smitten. In fact, he doubted if she was needed here today at all. A strange irritation developed in him and he found himself reacting in a slightly less pleasant way.

“Anything else?”

“Um….no.”

“Okay, have good day then.”

“You sir, are one lucky man. Good luck to both of you, hope the baby arrives safe and healthy.”

“Yeah, thanks, um….thank you.”

***

“Is he all right?”

Mycroft gestured at a chair next to him, “Come sit.”

Jim walked over and sat down obediently. Mycroft noted that he not only looked better but also walked like a normal person again. Last time he had seen him walk, it was the slow and unsteady hobble of a man in pain. He also noticed that Jim had had a haircut. It suited him, made him look boyish, cooler and softer than usual. The severely gelled back-brush and bouffant made him look sophisticated and chic, intimidating even, but definitely older than his age and somewhat harsher.

“Sherlock is fine. I didn’t….tell him. I didn’t want to do that without consulting with you.”

“Thanks. I don’t want him to know.”

“James, what do you want from me? I would love to help but you must understand that I am not Sherlock, not the father, and I won’t be able to throw him out of my life either. Staying with me for the next six months is fine, but once he returns, things will become awkward. Look, I-I do want to support you but I must ensure we are on the same page….so, what is it that you wish me to do?”

Jim was prepared for this. He wasn’t startled or confused and responded calmly, “The baby.”

When Mycroft raised both brows he elaborated, “I will keep the baby and give birth to it and _it will have the Holmes last name_ , even if I have to fight the whole world to make that happen. I could do it in two ways, one would be the easier and harsher one, one that would involve defamation and some negative publicity, involving the media and the public. I have enough incriminating evidence with me in the form of photos, texts, emails and gifts. But I don’t want to do that. It won’t be good for the child eventually. The other way would be for you to support my child’s claim in the Holmes legacy, ensure he or she has grandparents, an uncle, at least some adult male figures to advise him and look after him, should something happen to me.”

“Why would anything happen to you,” Mycroft found himself saying, “You’ll be fine and so will be the baby. Yes, I was planning on doing this myself, but I am glad you brought it up as well. Common goal then, I look after you and ensure you have all the support needed as you carry the baby and give birth. Even the post care will be my responsibility and the child _will have_ the Holmes surname. That is his right, as it’s his right to be a legal heir.”

He smelled roses and fresh water on Jim. The earlier slightly burned, pungent smell was gone. The omega’s mood was changing for the better. The tension in his shoulders also left, he sat up straighter than earlier and the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile of relief and gratitude.

“Thank you.”

“One condition.”

“You have conditions _even today_ Mycroft?”

“For your benefit and mine, nothing untoward I promise.”

“Go ahead.”

“You will be transparent and open with me, tell me what I need to know and tell me only the truth. At the same time, if I push you too much on something, just call me out on it and I shall stop. Cooperate with me as I balance this with my work, don’t take any risks and compromise the baby….. _or yourself_.”

Jim looked like the old Moriarty for a moment. “I have a condition too.” His eyes glinted.

Mycroft found his heartbeat speed up a bit, both by means of fear and a hint of arousal as Jim leaned in close enough for the older man to feel his body heat and breath on his face. He smelled fresh, he smelled of mint and coffee. “Yes?”

“If Sherlock tries to harm the baby or bothers me in any which way whatsoever, I shall deal with him in my own unique way. You will neither step in between us nor will you take your brother’s side. Can you do that?”

Mycroft let out a breath he had been holding in. The omega was showing all signs of an expecting mum, the possessiveness and worry over the offspring’s wellbeing, the hint of anger towards anyone who might hurt him or his unborn child, a little spite towards the alpha who had let him down badly. “I assure you I won’t let the baby or you get compromised in any way. But if you want the future to be golden, you can’t walk on hot coals. As a pregnant omega, you have a lot to worry about besides the alpha who impregnated you. As for my stance, I will always try to do the right thing, even if it means taking your side. But he’s my brother, I can’t really stand by and watch you stab him or something.”

“Huhnn,” Jim scoffed, “If I wanted to do that, he’d be dead by now.”

“Did you guys….guys bond?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…..” Mycroft felt even more anger and confusion rise within himself. How could Sherlock get so irresponsible? Having an affair was one thing, an accidental pregnancy was also on a list of possibilities driven by silliness and carelessness, but to bond with an omega and then…..

“Did you break it?” He asked after a pause.

“Why do you think I was driven to that madness of trying to end my child’s life before it had even had a chance to breathe?” Jim said and this time the bitterness was evident in his voice. He suddenly made a hand gesture as if to suggest he had something to show Mycroft. He stepped out of the room and came back a few minutes later, brandishing a couple of stapled papers in his hand, like a weapon of some sort. “Here,” he dropped it before Mycroft, “Here is the proof.”

“Proof of _what_ exactly?”

“DNA test, confirming this is Sherlock’s child.”

Mycroft blinked, “That wasn’t really needed…..”

Jim chuckled joylessly, “Oh no, _it was_!”


	4. Morning Sickness and Cravings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's omega pregnancy proceeds well under Mycroft's care, with the usual hiccups

A week passed and _it started_.

Jim had entered the third month, just about. At around 8 weeks of pregnancy, things went a bit south for the young omega. Mycroft was unaware on the first day and got to know only when he reached the breakfast table and asked for Jim. “Where is he?” He asked, looking around, “Please don’t tell me he’s gone out jogging with my security officers. He isn’t supposed to…..”

“In bed,” Mrs. Devon said nonchalantly as she placed only a single plate of breakfast on the table, “Fast asleep.” When Mycroft got up from his chair to go and check, murmuring something about sleeping in despite going to bed early, his housekeeper stopped him. “No Mr. Holmes, please let him sleep,” she said, sounding sure of what she was saying, “He needs it. Not just because of his pregnancy, which does make people extra tired at times, but because he has been suffering from the dreaded first trimester condition. I am surprised you didn’t _hear him_ , I heard him from downstairs.”

“Heard _what_?”

“Retching.”

“Food poisoning?! Let me call Stella….!”

“No, no need to. This isn’t digestive issues or infection. Morning sickness, something fifty percent of the pregnant population, male or female, go through. I was wondering why it appeared now. He should have had it a month or six weeks ago.”

“Morning sickness,” Mycroft repeated as if he had heard for the first time. Of course he had heard it before but had never given that condition a thought. No one he knew well enough or was close to had ever been pregnant, hence he had very little idea or experience around it.

“Yeah. Nothing to worry. It goes off on its own, by the end of the first trimester. Only four weeks and he will be better.”

Mycroft scratched behind his head with a clueless expression on his face; something he did when his wits failed him, _which wasn’t often_. “I don’t get it Mrs. Devon,” he said, not even glancing at his food, “How can we not worry when someone is throwing up and can’t get up from bed. What if this is an indication of an underlying condition or this…..morning sickness dehydrates him in a dangerous way.”

She smiled, “Relax, as I said, this isn’t _so bad_. Your partner and baby are fine. It isn’t that serious. I spoke to him. I’ll handle this. But if you still wish to call Dr. Brodie, it’s up to you.”

Mycroft found it hard to concentrate on any work that day and returned home early.

He found Jim sitting in the den, feet up on the couch, looking miserable. By sheer protective instinct and the scent of helplessness emanating from him, Mycroft moved swiftly and took the spot right next to him. For a second he thought Jim might react to the proximity but the former criminal only got more comfortable and leaned into his touch, putting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft tensed.

“How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know really, I realize I don’t even know what to expect,” Jim answered honestly, his toes curling as he leaned even more heavily against Mycroft, “I have never seen a pregnant woman, let alone an omega male. I knew someone who had conceived but then he ended it medically. He was not interested in having kids. In fact, even I wasn’t interested until I realized the heat hadn’t come and a home-kit check told me I has conceived. It wasn’t planned but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it…..” He trailed off, looking even worse than before. Clearly memories were beginning to bother him again.

“Hey, listen to me,” Mycroft hoped he was of some help, inexperienced as he was in this matter or in matters of handling emotional issues, “You are a strong man. I am there, Stella is there, Mrs. Devon is there and soon….maybe mummy will help too. My mother is a very strong lady herself, she will ensure no harm comes to you. You’ll do fine, just fine.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“In the meantime, I can give you something.”

“What is it?”

“Stay put. I will bring it.”

Minutes later Mycroft walked in with the package he had picked up from Paris, en route to London from Serbia. He wanted to give it to Jim that very day but somehow couldn’t find the right moment to do so. He was torn between _wanting to help_ and _looking too eager_. He had no desire to be rebuffed by Jim for something _he didn’t even want_ ……did he? Did he _not_ want Jim? Mycroft’s steps just slowed down abruptly as the strange question entered his mind.

Fortunately for him, Jim brought that dilemma filled moment to an end. “What is that? Is that for me?”

Mycroft nodded.

“Then give it to me.”

Mycroft handed the package to Jim and said ‘open it’ before settling down next to him again. But unlike the previous time, Jim didn’t lean in or rest his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. He sat upright, back straight, eagerly pulling at the strings holding the package together.

“I thought these might help you while you’re going through the pregnancy,” Mycroft murmured, eyes on Jim’s face and searching for reactions, “If I had a sister, a friend, a cousin or a friend who was going through a pregnancy, I’d have gifted them this…..so I got one for you.”

To his happiness he saw that Jim approved of the gift whole-heartedly. It was a pregnant omega’s guide through the nine months and several items they might need in the course of it. There were three books, one about the process of the child growing in the womb and it’s first few months of life. The second one was about the male omega parent, expecting mother, the way the mother’s body changed during the trimesters, pre-natal exercises they should do, the tests and other checkups they were supposed to go through. The third one was a smaller and thinner book of recipes, food and recipes for the expecting mother and a smaller section which had recipes for the baby from 0 to 12 months. There were two USB drives which had live demos of breathing exercises, soothing music for the child and some pre-natal exercises for the mother. There were also bespoke shoes and pillows for the mother, as her body expanded and adjusted to the growing baby within.

“Now you will have some idea at least, what say?” Mycroft asked hopefully.

Jim nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, this is good.” His pretty brown eyes looked at Mycroft with a serious expression, belied with the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“There is nothing about this pregnancy that you, I and the doctors can’t handle together.”

“And God.”

“Oh….what….God….you are a _believer_?”

“I was agnostic at one point but never an atheist completely. Right now I believe I am…..a believer, _a firm believer_. It wavered a bit when the mess happened with Sherlock…..well, about Sherlock, he has been pestering Sebastian about my whereabouts and Sebastian is pestering me in return. Can you look into this please…..Mike?”

_He called me Mike!_ Mycroft’s heart swelled with something close to pride and delight and something else he couldn’t name. But he shushed up his inner voice. _Come on now, it is just a nickname and Mike is an easy short form for your rather peculiar Christian name, isn’t it?_

***

Mycroft kept waking up exactly at seven am every morning of that week, half hour before his alarm. His body had become accustomed to this pattern of waking up, so he could join Jim.

Join the Irishman as he bent over the toilet and retched pathetically, throwing out water and stomach fluids with painful heaves before lapsing into dry heaves and collapsing on the cold marble floor. The Englishman stood helplessly the first day before he caught on and started making Jim a bit more comfortable in that position. He would hold his shoulder and forehead and keep him steady as he retched and then give him a mouth wash and a wet cloth to clean up. One morning Jim was so weak Mycroft had to carry him back to bed.

“Stay,” a pale and thin arm came up as he tried to walk out of the room, “It’s weekend.”

Mycroft didn’t have the heart to tell him it was not the weekend yet but Friday. Well, Friday was the _close enough_ to the weekend, the elder Holmes sibling thought as he got into Jim’s bed and lay there while the brunette dozed off next to him. Not wanting to disturb the younger man, Mycroft texted Lady Smallwood and Anthea and one of his deputies who was stationed at the Mi5 wing, saying he was indisposed and therefore unable to attend to his duties from the office. “I will work from home today and attend to some important tasks but I’ll be available only after noon and up till five in the evening.” _Yes, I can take some time off after years of being available 24/7/365._

Since Jim slept on till quite late, Mycroft escaped for a little while to have some breakfast, check his mails and then returned to bed after a quick shower. He deliberated over Jim’s request earlier in the week and decided to act on it. He pulled out Sebastian Moran’s number and shot off a text to the blond sniper…..former sniped….asking him how he was doing. The answer, as he had half expected, was not so _pleasant_ or _polite_.

_What do you want Holmes? You are not someone who’d text me unless you have vested interests – SM_

_I assure you I have none. Merely checking if you are okay – MH_

_Don’t pretend to care – SM_

_Trust me, I have no intentions of starting a series of texts with you that ends in argument and bad blood. I just wanted to know why you sounded so upset a couple of weeks ago, when you sent me the text – MH_

_I was drunk. Forgive me for that – SM_

Mycroft frowned. The man was clearly backtracking. But why? He had to probe first to prove a point. Very diplomatically he typed the next response.

_I know he is alive and I will do nothing to compromise him. I promise you that – MH_

The silence on the other side was deafening, to put it mildly. Mycroft had almost given up hope of a response when the reply came in.

_There isn’t much left to compromise, steal, restore or cherish. You and your dumb-fuck brother ruined it all, completely. Now he is on my head and riding my arse, asking me where Jimmy is. Get him off my back and get him to stay away from Jimmy and we will be fine. I might even forgive you someday Holmes - SM_

_Fair enough. That intervention can be arranged – MH_

***

“Mr. Holmes, this is Kenny,” One of Mycroft’s ace agents, whose codename was KennyG, had called on the private number, indicating a very confidential call, “I tracked down your brother in Columbia. You were right, the drug lord’s death happened in his hands. Strange, he could have had the man arrested but he apparently pushed him off the cliff after shooting at and shattering that fellow’s knee cap. Left no traces or footprints though but did make the effort to collect the two and half million dollars cut on helping the cops discover the tons and tons of stash in the drug lord’s secret hideout. He is behaving a bit strangely, picked up a couple of hookers, went drinking and got into a pub brawl. His work is going fine and he hasn’t really caused any real trouble though.”

Mycroft recognized the signs of his brother’s restlessness. Restlessness borne out of frustration. Frustration borne out of guilt. Guilt borne out of something he had to do but his heart had stood firmly in the way until he overruled it and decided in favor of the mind.

Mycroft wondered what Sherlock’s reasons for abandoning Jim might be! He had seen flashes of the fascination his brother held for the criminal and the way Jim worshipped him in a twisted way in return, so he could see the passion ignite between the two. How did it die down? Was it just about the baby or something else? “Well KennyG, all I can say is he needs to call me and if he doesn’t, then ensure I get to talk to him,” Mycroft spoke in a tone that left no room for questions or negotiations, “Say if he doesn’t do this within the next week, I might have to talk to John before time.”

Brushing aside all feelings of guilt at blackmailing his brother, Mycroft disconnected.

The next moment he heard Jim calling out to him.

“James, stay there, I am coming,” Mycroft came rushing out of his study and loped up the stairs, drawing attention of his bemused housekeeper who was walking down the hallway, going about the regular chores in the house.

He found Jim in his own bedroom. “Where is the white chocolate with strawberry filling and dark bitter sprinkles on it?”

“Oh that….I….well…err….”

“Damn it, I knew some of it was left.”

“Yes, so it was.”

Mycroft and Jim had been eating chocolate and popcorn in bed while watching a black and white classic from the thirties. That was the night before and Jim had slept there, in Mycroft’s bed, with the half eaten chocolate on his lap. Strangely aroused by the body of the slender Irishman next to him, curled around his larger frame, he had started to stress-eat the chocolate and finished it.

“Then where is it, it couldn’t have grown wings and flown away?” Jim threw his hands up in the air as he looked in every place possible, from under the bed to behind the dresser, he even turned the rug and peeked behind the drapes. Mycroft stood there, bewildered and mortified, unsure of how to break the bad news to his newfound friend. Yes, Jim seemed like a friend now, a housemate and a buddy, someone whose presence he had grown accustomed to in rapid time. “Where is my chocolate, I want _that chocolate_ , Kelly had got it especially for me, it was supposed to be for _me_ ,” Jim whined and grumbled alternately, finally giving up and flopping down on the bed with a huge sulk on his face.

“Um…James.”

“WHAT?”

“I ate it.”

Jim blinked at him as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. For a few seconds he just kept opening and closing his mouth, unable to get the words out. Then, with a start, he began to laugh hard. “Ohhhh, Sherlock was right, he told me you were….you were…..” Jim doubled over with the effort of laughing, “He said Mycroft can kill only for three things besides the Queen and country, for pies, cake and chocolates. Hahahahaha!!!”

Mycroft was dumbfounded, then startled, then he too started to laugh. Though not as boisterously as Jim, he found himself caught in the other man’s sense of humor and the funny elements behind that statement. He kept laughing and laughing until…..

There was a change in Jim’s breathing pattern. His breath hitched and he suddenly drew in a few shuddering and noisy breaths, before letting out a loud exhale that ended in a sob. “I remember so many things….I miss him so much…..” Jim wept, clumsily wiping his tears with the back of his hands while Mycroft stood, mortified once more, watching him mutely. He had no idea how to console this distraught man.

Jim kept crying and crying until he lay back on the bed, exhausted.

“James,” Mycroft began, maintaining a distance from the Irishman even though his alpha side prodded him to hold Jim in his arms, “I can’t be Sherlock, I really can’t. That pain is yours to deal with. What I can do is….get you this chocolate, no matter how far I have to drive to get it.”


	5. John gets to know the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jim's pregnancy progresses, Mycroft's home and lifestyle adjusts itself around the expecting omega

Jim’s rather pesky and intense morning sickness lessened and suddenly vanished one fine day as he entered the second trimester. Five weeks into his stay with Mycroft, the latter’s household and lifestyle had slowly grown and established itself around the pregnant omega. There was food in every room, a bit of mess here and there, baby books and items for the baby had started to appear as Mycroft made some impulsive online purchases.

“A crib?” Jim asked, “So soon?”

“It is a small cradle,” Mycroft said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “It is for the study. While you’re sleeping and I am working, he can sleep here in this room. The room’s scheme is brown and cream, hence the crib is also light coffee and cream. It matches to some extent, at least.” With that Mycroft had gone back to work only to feel eyes on him after a good five minutes. Looking up he saw Jim was still there and squinting at him, as if he had something to say or ask. “Yes James,” Mycroft tried not to give away how glad it made him when Jim wanted to talk to him, spend more time together, “You want to talk about something with me?”

“After the baby,” Jim began, “You want me to be a stay at home mum….dad….whatever?”

“No. When did I say that?”

“Why is it…that whenever we talk about the post-natal days, you always see me as….sleeping?”

“I….no, that’s not what I meant really. Sleeping is symbolic of _recovering from the strain of childbirth_ , not an indicator of permanent laziness or lack of occupation. I am sure you’d make a fine professional, whatever you choose to be. By the way, do you have something on your mind? If you don’t mind me asking, how are you placed financially?”

Jim raised a brow.

“I am only asking this because I-I want to assure you,” Mycroft cleared his throat, trying to be very careful with his choice of words, “That I am there….I mean, I will look after the baby and you. If needed, of course. I am very capable of doing so, I have the means.”

“Even after surrendering over a billion in cash, another billion of art and a further billion of assets and properties, I am very solvent and well-provided for. Mike, I am not sure you have the exact numbers or not, but I didn’t exactly saw off my legs when I switched tracks year and half ago. I have over a hundred million and three properties, not to mention a black-book that can still tie the British government in a tangled web of knots and stitches, should they turn against me, ever.”

The hint of fire and danger in that voice was not lost on Mycroft but the Mi6 chief, formerly a cold-blooded and astute professional, was too busy rejoicing over the fact that Jim had made no mention of ‘leaving’ after the baby was born. His uncanny happiness distracted him so much that he had not even registered the threat properly as he continued to make plans in his head to include Jim, and the baby, into his life and home for the long run.

“Don’t worry though,” Jim said, more to sweeten the sudden bitterness he had displayed, “I am not planning anything right now. First the baby, then my art gallery, then books on math and astrophysics, then perhaps working on a new device……”

***

It took another fifteen days for Sherlock to contact Mycroft and that too after he had literally been given three more threats. Eventually the fear factor of ‘mummy’ and ‘John’ being informed and 221B being rented out to someone else worked. Sherlock called on the private line, in the safety and security of a Mi6 safe house, with Kenny and some other operatives keeping a watch. The first thing Mycroft said, without even asking Sherlock how he was, was if he was alone and if not, he should ensure he was and not be heard or recorded. Though silent and suspicious about this instruction, Sherlock complied.

“Alone now, what is it that you want,” he spoke with the traditional Holmes iciness, “Thanks for asking _how I am doing_ , by the way.”

“I am sure your intelligence stretches to the points where some amount of common sense gets incorporated now and then,” Mycroft spoke with his trademark sarcasm, in a smooth and cultured voice, “I wouldn’t ask you to call and make elaborate arrangements to get you into a safe house in the middle of a mission had I merely wanted to ask how you’re doing. My men and women do keep an eye on you, _all the time_. You’re well aware you’re tailed, no matter where you go. Now, what business do you have with Sebastian Moran and why have you been calling the colonel now and then?”

Deathly silence followed. He could hear Sherlock growling softly. _Typical alpha reaction_ , Mycroft thought.

“That bastard complained?”

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with him.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t lie, please, if you want to have no business or pleasure with him then why bombard him with calls. The last time I checked your plate is quite full and you have some crimes and criminals to solve and eliminate. The mission is not over yet, Sherlock.”

“I am well aware, brother mine. I am the one doing all the work, well, most of it anyways. I called Sebastian for some information, that is all.”

“What kind of information would you need from him that I cannot supply?” Mycroft shot back, “Or my team cannot dig it out for you? If this is about Irene then trust me you don’t need to go after her. She had already been taken into custody for a silly blackmail plot she wove, for an upcoming gay politician she had been hired to beard for. She is finished, she will spend the rest of her life just living off the money she has made and under due surveillance from the FBI.”

“It is _not_ about Irene,” Sherlock said in a tight voice.

Mycroft remembered Sherlock as a seven year old, a similar tight voice and clipped speech, when he had been cornered about breaking the jar of fresh orange marmalade made at home by their housekeeper. When cornered, when there was _no escape_ and yet he didn’t like to answer under interrogation and pressure, Sherlock adopted a closed off body language, avoided looking into anyone’s eyes and used a similar tone and manner of speech. Mycroft knew when not to push too hard but it was too tempting to let him go just yet. So he tried the sensationalist approach. “Trying to _replace_ James Moriarty now that you are nearly done with your work on his web,” he kept his tone casual and smirked when he heard Sherlock’s breath hitch, “Sebastian is the _only_ remaining connection, isn’t he?”

“Leave Jimmy…..Jim out of this. Leave Moriarty out of this. He is gone. And….and, he is not replaceable. Period.”

“Sebastian should not be disturbed, period.”

“Okay, a compromise then. I will stop calling Seb….Sebastian Moran, and you will have to talk to John and keep him prepared for my return.”

“Fair enough. Deal.”

***

“Wh’re ‘re ya goin’?”

Mycroft knew he had to stop allowing Jim to weaken his resolve first thing in the morning. Getting out of bed had become near impossible ever since Jim had settled into his bedroom and started sharing his bed. Before that, Mycroft had always been an out and out morning person.

“I have to go meet someone James,” he said, looking fondly at Jim’s hand clutching at the sleeve of his sleep shirt, “It has to be a face to face meeting and it needs to be done as soon as possible. Duty beckons.” He gently pried off the hand but, on a sudden whim and urge, kissed the fingers before tucking the hand back under the covers, “You sleep. I promise I shall be back early again today. Say around 4 PM.”

“It’s three days to _Christmas_ ,” Jim whined, eyes wide open now.

“It is, but the kind of work I do, you know how it is and that it follows no calendar holidays,” Mycroft said, smoothing Jim’s hairs back from his face.

Brown eyes looked at him innocently, “What if the morning sickness comes back and I get dehydrated?”

Mycroft smiled, then smirked when he spotted the obvious manipulative streak behind that innocent as a snowflake stare. _Jim, the master of mind-games just as he used to be during his criminal mastermind days!_ “I can see what you’re trying to do here Mr. Brooke but I _have_ to go, sorry,” he said merrily, laughing slightly when Jim pouted and he saw the Irishman kick out his legs under the covers in frustration, “Listen now, I know there is a baby inside you but it seems you’re also getting younger and younger by the day. Last night you wanted a bedtime story and now this puppy look in the morning…..This is how Sherlock used to sound when he didn’t want to go to school…..”

Mycroft stopped midway through the sentence as he saw the look on Jim’s face change from a playful pout to an expression of utter devastation. Cursing himself for this tactless move and blaming his insular nature for the lack of empathy he showed in relationships, he hung his head in shame. “I-I am sorry,” he blurted out after a while, “That was stupid of me, it came out totally wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Jim got up and walked to the bathroom, his voice tight and stiff, “There is no _right way_ of addressing that thing….that man.”

“James….”

The door closed.

***

“Mycroft,” John seemed surprised when Mycroft showed up at the flat the doctor occupied those days, “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I guess I should have called but I took a chance,” Mycroft said, noting that John didn’t step aside or open the door wider for him to enter, “Um…may I come in please?”

John seemed to wake up from a trance. “Yes,” he said, quickly stepping away from the way, “Please do come inside.” He ushered Mycroft into the sitting room, which was spacious and had plenty of light and heat, with a new and powerful heating system and large French style windows on three sides. It was a three bedroom flat on the ground floor of a middle class neighborhood, quieter and less crowded than Baker Street and with more trees and parking spots for the residents.

“Nice place,” the Mi6 chief commented.

“It better be,” John said with a shrug, “I have a 50% downpayment and 50% mortgage on it. I will be paying off for this for at least ten years, so it _better_ be as good as I was assured. Will you have some tea?”

“Yes please,” Mycroft stated. John nodded and disappeared through the doorway. From where he sat on a new pristine white couch, Mycroft could see a hallway, one side of which branched out into a seemingly large modern kitchen and dining area while the other probably led to the bedrooms. He wondered if John would give him a grand tour but he didn’t really expect that kind of hospitality from the younger man. John blamed him in some way for Sherlock’s ‘death’ and now Mycroft was sure he would be hated for keeping this huge secret of ‘Sherlock was alive all along’ from him. Darn, why did he have to do this on Sherlock’s behalf? Right, because he wanted Sherlock to stop bothering Moran who in turn had to stop complaining to Jim.

It struck Mycroft that several things he did over the past two and half months was all about Jim and Jim’s wellbeing. It startled him in ways he hadn’t thought possible, especially since he had _never ever_ accommodated anyone else’s needs before his own or woven the threads of his life to match with those of others. Now he found himself putting Jim _first_ in everything. Oh well, it was all about the baby, the _Holmes baby and heir_.

His eyes scanned the room. He saw a photo of Sherlock on the mantelpiece. It was one where his brother was wearing a deerstalker and giving the media a sideways, sort of a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look. It was a candid shot that had become rather famous. His eyes next fell on a wall hanging. It was a cartoonized portrait of Sherlock scanning some object with a magnifying glass. John had framed it and kept it. His gaze fell on the coffee table, again Sherlock, this time in the form of a chibi doll, wearing his trademark single breasted casual suit and purple shirt, brandishing a violin.

“Here,” John walked in, holding two cups of tea, “Mycroft I hate to be rude but I have only thirty minutes. After that I have to get ready and head to the clinic.”

John had gone berserk with grief after Sherlock’s ‘death’. The first three months had been the toughest and he had multiple visits to the shrink and was on antidepressants and sedatives. Then he had started to pick up the threads of his life and plunged himself into work.

That had been a good move apparently, trading grief for constant work and commitments, because he was totally off meds now and aside from the monthly visit to a wellness therapist, he was more or less stable. His professional success had soared as well. He had the surgeon’s license now and started with a partnership at a new clinic, along with three other medical professionals like himself. This house and a new Audi 6 were the proofs of his improving finances.

“I understand, I am on limited time too,” Mycroft lied. He had kept the entire morning free to deal with this. “I have something to tell you, so please sit and put the cup down. Hold on to something because you might be a bit _shaken_ by what I am about to reveal.”

_John snorted._ He appeared humorless and colorless, nothing like the John whom Mycroft had met five and half years earlier.

“What will you reveal Mycroft, what _can you_ reveal that would be worse than what I heard twenty months and five days ago?” His voice was laced with loads of angst and exasperation, bitter hurt and wistfulness, “It seems I am destined to see sea-changes in my life every few years. First it was the injury in Afghanistan and early retirement from the military. Then it was moving in with Sherlock and starting a whole new life and profession altogether. Then, just as I was starting to love that work and that man, it was taken away from me at the blink of an eyelid. Now, after I have managed to pick up the pieces of my miserable doomed life again, what have you brought with yourself to shatter my fragile peace with?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. John frowned, “ _You’re_ hesitating. That doesn’t seem good.”

“Well, it might not be bad news. It depends on how you look at it.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No, quite the opposite really.”

John suddenly snapped, “Then tell me already. I am not going to sit here and guess. I have better things to do.” Then, as quickly as he had flared up, he calmed down and apologized to Mycroft, cradling his head in his hands. “I am sorry, I just…..let’s just get this over and done with. What is it that I need to know? Do you need my help on any of our old cases or do I have to visit Eugenia and Reginald?”

_“Sherlock is alive.”_

John blinked. He just kept looking at Mycroft. No expressions, no changes in body language, just an eerie and peculiar stillness. “He is alive and well,” Mycroft added, hoping he was doing this the right way, “It was a planned activity, keeping you out of the picture and therefore out of harm’s way. We also wanted it to look real, so even Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and the rest of the Scotland Yard officers were not informed either.”

He gave the full details of the faked event, complete with the buildup, planning and chain of events and activities since. Sherlock’s travel around the world, its purpose, the great job he was doing etc. John just listened, not saying a word, _not reacting at all_.

Finally, when Mycroft had finished, he got up and held the door open. “You need to go,” he said in a voice devoid of emotions, “I don’t need company right now. Please understand and leave.”


	6. Joshua James Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft prepares to tell his parents he's fathering Jim's baby, a Holmes baby.

“You seem worried,” Anthea commented as she brought him a medicine and a glass of water, “Is there something you can offload on me? I am not going anywhere for Christmas, as you know, so if you need to spend time with somebody then I can stand in for you, for a while.”

Mycroft had managed to swallow the pill, a pain relieving mild herbal pill for a dull ache in his temples. He has just taken in a gulp of water when Anthea made the statement and the Iceman, despite his best efforts, choked slightly on the mouthful. “What made you say that?” He asked curiously.

She smiled her best enigmatic smile, one she had learned from him. Great, now she uses her tricks on me, back on me, ha! Throwing her a pointed glance of inquisitiveness he waited, while she thought up the words she wanted to use. Ever the diplomatic and careful Anthea, she answered in a manner that pacified him immediately. “In all the years we have worked together, I haven’t seen you anxious to finish work or display a propensity to work from home even if the opportunity presented itself. Of late, I noticed both of those traits on you sir, and I am not criticizing you for it, I am in fact…..happy for you. For once, I see you look forward to Christmas, to holidays, to weekends. _Not a bad development_ at all I say.”

“Are women perceptive or do they make wild guesses, throw the curveball up in the air and let the chips fall as they may?” Mycroft asked, unnerved. This was creepy! Or was his behavior such a giveaway? Should he reproach Anthea for her forwardness? But how could he, after working for 12 years with him an even taking a bullet on his behalf, she had earned the right to speak up.

“I’d say we are observant.”

“Well, okay, I am caring for…looking after….hosting…whatever the word is….I do have a guest at home and I feel _responsible_ for them.”

“Them?”

“Him, it is a him. Maybe you can meet him soon but _first_ , my parents need to.”

“Oh…..meet the folks?”

“Anthea stop please,” Mycroft held up both his hands in a gesture of resignation, “It’s not been a great day so far. The only two people I have spoken to outside of work are both upset with me, I have a headache which I hate, I need to face my parents soon about something that won’t be easy to explain and….your questions and assumptions are the last things I need right now. I will let you know, but give me time.”

“Of course,” she quickly realized her folly and stepped back, “As for the stand-in….”

“Yes, please, I’d appreciate that a lot, thanks a million.”

“Anytime boss.”

***

Mycroft came home to the delicious aroma of a pie baking in the oven and sounds of Jim humming in the kitchen. Mrs. Devon smiled at him and Mycroft found himself smiling as well. Who knew coming home to such simple domestic joys would be a better cure for his headache and moods than the best medicines in the world! He swiftly entered the kitchen and found Jim taking two pies out of the oven. He had oven mitts on and, curiously enough, one of Mycroft’s T shirts on. It was big for him and reached mid thighs, but that gave him an adorably dorky and rather cute and pretty look.

“Choose,” the Irishman said, “Apple or blueberries.”

“Both,” Mycroft conceded, “You leave me with no choices at times. Never knew you to be a baker though.” That earned him a chuckle and a wink and Jim came up to him and lifted his/Mycroft’s T shirt and unashamedly exposed his stomach. “Mike,” he said in a serious tone, “Though all my checkups and sonographies have yielded good results and the ‘Everything good in the hood’ verdict, I am beginning to worry about the baby. I am in the middle of my fifth month and I don’t seem to be showing so much, am I?”

Mycroft felt a strange heat and thrill spread in his groins as Jim stood like that, milky skin bared, the pants he was wearing riding low on his hips and exposing a bit of what seemed like the first trails of his pubic hair. He tore his eyes away from the sexy scene and spluttered.

“Um no, I did ask Stella, and-and she said it’s….normal. You will start showing…from six months and beyond….yeah, that’s it, that is what she said.”

“Good then.”

The T shirt came down and Mycroft heaved a sigh of relief. “Listen, about the morning….”

  
“It’s all right Iceman,” Jim said as he put the pies on the table to let them cool down, “I need to get used to his name being dropped/mentioned/suggested. He is your brother and it’s not like he’s fallen out with you. So there will be his mentions in everyday speech. Possibly a lot more once he is back in London.” He hesitated and asked, “How do you plan to break the news to him then?”

Mycroft would have loved to say he hadn’t thought about it, he had deliberately not thought about it, but he chose not to be so blunt. “I think, I will just tell him and let him know you and the baby will be with me for as long as you want. For that I need my parents’ support though.”

Jim gave him a questioning look, “Do you mean….?”

“Yes. Christmas lunch. Mummy has invited us and I want us to go, all three of us.”

The look of curiosity on Jim’s face turned into one of full-blown wonder, followed by a look of utter joy. It warmed the cockles of Mycroft’s heart and the elder Holmes sibling found himself reaching out and ruffling Jim’s hairs affectionately. He was glad things between them were not stormy, that Jim had handled this with maturity. He appreciated that. “Three of us,” Jim repeated his words, caressing his stomach absentmindedly, “That sounds so fabulous Mike…..” He suddenly grabbed one of Mycroft’s hands and pressed it to his stomach, eyes glowing like pools of chocolate, “I can’t feel it kicking me yet, but I am sure soon he will….he, yes I know it will be a he.”

“I just want the baby to be healthy,” Mycroft said, his hand still on Jim’s stomach as he tried to feel the little life growing in there, “The first time it can be a boy or a girl, either ways they will be the first of their generation and…..a treasure!”

“But….” Jim’s face fell.

“But what?” Mycroft frowned, “You’re not feeling well enough to travel?”

  
“No, nothing like that. Why would your parents even have me? They know I tried to kill their son, though that’s not entirely true.”

“I have thought about that James. I need to talk to them first of course, to explain everything, including Sherlock and your joint plan of faking your demises. I shall visit them tomorrow, speak to them about your new avatar and reformed lifestyle and choices, clear the air, set expectations and _then we will visit_ ; when the road is clear and okay for you and James Junior to be received warmly and happily.”

“I like the name Joshua.”

Jim sounded shy and unsure for a second, as if he was bracing himself for a rejection from the taller man. But the Mi6 chief was soundly pleased and had no problems accepting the name. It somehow resonated well with him. “Joshua you said?” He asked, smiling slightly.

“Joshua James Holmes.”

“That sounds _fabulous_.”

“And what will you tell them about the _paternity_ of Josh?”

“ _I am the father_. But it’s your call.”

Jim hesitated for a moment before he said, “Give me a few hours to think. The world is a different kettle of fish altogether but your parents _must not_ live under any false illusions or misinformation. _Funny_ isn’t it, someone like me staying away from falsehood and thinking about others? Since the day Josh came to me, I have felt myself change. Earlier the urge to be reformed and lead a legit life was borne out of a sense of fatigue being a mastermind and constantly having to con my way through life…..but now the motivations are different. I want to live, want to see him grow, I want to……”

“GHOST!!!”

The two men jumped and so did the one standing in the passageway between the huge kitchen and the dining room, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging loose. A weird croaking sound came from him and while Jim snickered, Mycroft thought for a moment he would have to get a doctor for another doctor. John Hamish Watson, with nerves of steel and an open mind on most subjects, had been so taken aback at the sight of a Jim Moriarty in Mycroft’s kitchen that even his steely side had crumbled. He trembled like a leaf as he stepped back, one pace at a time, pale and ashen faced. “Gh-Ghost….spectre…..wraith…..app-appa-apparition…..spirit,” he babbled, knocking against the edge of a table and collapsing on the ground along with an Edwardian chair he had managed to topple.

“Taibhse,” Jim laughed.

“What?” Mycroft could see Jim was enjoying the moment.

“Specter, in Gaelic, the freshly dead kinds.”

“Oh James. Get him some water will you?”

“Or maybe another Semtex vest?”

“James, no, please _don’t_.”

Jim did an eyeroll and went to fetch the water. Mycroft straightened the chair and helped John up, making him sit on it. A moment later Jim slammed down a bottle of water before a startled and still trembling John and barked, “Swallow, you scared little schoolgirl.”

“John, calm down, I am certainly not living in a haunted mansion,” Mycroft tried to be gentle with the distraught man, “Get a hold over yourself and understand the situation. I know it is a lot to take in but the truth is that…. _They both faked their deaths_. In fact, I was not even aware that Jim had faked his death until….a few months ago. Well, these two geniuses were both arse holes and very similar in their mischief-making ways, weren’t they?”

“You are the arse hole who hates legwork and sucks up to the Queen,” Jim snarled.

“It’s a joke hon, don’t be upset, you know me _pretty well_ by now.”

There was a split second of utter silence in the dining room. The affectionate ‘hon’ made Jim’s eyes widen while John let out a yelp a little later and jumped up from the chair. He clutched at Mycroft’s arm and gasped, “Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. He had to do this and he had to do this right. If Jim and Josh were in his care then he had to own them completely. They were his family now and that was how he was going to project it to John. But at the same time a thought nagged the corners of his mind, telling him it was _wrong_ to tell John another lie when he had obviously been struggling with one already. Or was it _two_? _Sherlock and Jim’s supposed deaths_! His eyes fell on Jim thereafter and his mind was made up. Jim looked worried, nervy. He was a pregnant omega and didn’t deserve to be a part of the debate as to why Sherlock had put his seed in him and then abandoned him. He was NOT going to cause the Irishman any further distress. He would have to explain things to John later, when the right time arrived.

“It is not what you think it is,” Mycroft answered him in a serious tone, “It is, in fact, much more than that.”

“What?”

“James is expecting a baby. My baby.”

“OH LORD!”

“Hold on for a few moments John, drink the water, calm yourself and let me explain things to you properly. I am sure a man like you will understand and grasp the matters quickly. But you need to simply stop shocking the five senses out of yourself with every single revelation.”

***

“So that’s it, I fell in love with him and the baby just happened,” Mycroft concluded the thirty minute dialogue between him and John while Jim sliced the pies and tasted one piece, smacking his lips before pushing a bite size piece into Mycroft’s mouth.

“This is really good,” Mycroft said appreciatively, “You must bake more often.”

John watched them with a surprised look on his face but he was much more in control over himself now. When Jim had walked into the kitchen again, he turned towards Mycroft and said, a hesitant smile on his face, “Forgive me but it’s hard for me to imagine the gun-toting, threat-spewing, ‘I will turn you into shoes’ mastermind baking pies in your kitchen and feeding you morsels of his work….by the way, can I also have _some_?”

Mycroft smiled, “Sure, why not? Let me get that for you and some tea as well.”

John and Jim didn’t become friends exactly but, as the three shared tea and slices of the freshly baked pie in Mycroft’s kitchen, the elder Holmes sibling was sure things were moving in the right direction. With John on his side and ready to reconcile with Sherlock, he was free to go and talk to his parents, tell them he had chosen Jim as his partner and they were about to have a baby. Of course, his mummy and daddy would be shocked but at least _the baby_ would be a good way to rebuild bridges there.

That night, as Jim and Mycroft lay together on Mycroft’s bed, the Irishman poured out his heart and talked about his _never-discussed childhood_. He was frank, open and honest and didn’t seem to be mincing or hiding any words or feelings. He talked about the way he was bullied, how he had attacked the bullies back instead of becoming a shrinking violet, spoke about his indifferent parents and the loneliness he felt as a tween and later as a teen, when no one seemed to understand him. As Mycroft listened, he identified many of those problems as Sherlock’s, which he didn’t mention of course. But while he listened to Jim, truly listened to every word and the emotions attached to them, he began to not only understand the former criminal but also his own younger brother.

Both had been misunderstood geniuses. Both had been bullied and decided enough was enough. Sherlock had withdrawn into a shell while Jim had hit back.

Both had failed to find an anchor in a family member, a friend or some mentor who could channel their energies and angst into something positive.

Both had turned a bit self-destructive, Sherlock through substance abuse and Jim by turning to a risky world of crime.

He identified one major difference though. While Sherlock had grown out of the negative phase and changed his approach, choosing to uphold the law and stick to the side of the angels, Jim had sunk into the murky world of crime and thereafter into a void of depression. The effect John seemed to have had on Sherlock was not the same as what Sebastian had on Jim. While both John and Sebastian loved the geniuses they worked with, Sebastian had always been a deputy, someone Jim loved and cared about but never considered an equal. Sherlock on the other hand had always considered John a partner.

The only problem was, _he had loved Jim, slept with him, all the while as he played house with John_.

When Jim fell asleep Mycroft sat up a bit, keeping hold on Jim’s hand because it felt good to maintain that connection. It was a connection that couldn’t be explained in words, it was meant to be felt. For the first time in many years, Mycroft had ‘felt’ something in his heart.

He quietly began to rehearse his spiel to his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the slow updates. This story is coming out nicely now. I am trying my best not to turn Sherlock into an arch villain here. He too must have his redeeming qualities.


	7. Proud grandparents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People do not really change, do they? They are merely revealed.

Eugenia Holmes sat frozen on the armchair next to the fireplace. Reginald Holmes sat on the edge of the couch in the middle of the room. Mycroft found himself standing next to the baby grand piano which was half way between the couch and the armchair, eyes fleeting from one parent to the other as he narrated the story and the backstory, carefully leaving out parts and skimming quickly over the others.

So far his parents hadn’t said much, except for a sharp intake of breath or two or a bit of a gasp or sigh. they had asked one or two odd questions when some things didn’t make sense but other than that they had given Mycroft uninterrupted time to explain everything.

As he spoke the elder Holmes son realized that he was transported back to those days when he was less than ten and alternately _naughty_ or _greedy_ , sometimes breaking his father’s air-gun or his ride-on lawn mower, at other times snatching a big portion of his mother’s fabulous homemade cakes and pies and cookies. After he had turned ten and Sherlock had grown out of toddlerhood, Mycroft had suddenly grown into a young adult. He had never been cornered or questioned since. But today, it was like going back to his nine-year-old self again. When Mycroft paused, trying to gauge what was going on in the minds of both his parents, Reginald asked a sudden question that was not focused on understanding the narrative but to question Mycroft’s intentions on _revealing_ it.

“Why tell us now?”

“I want you to meet him.”

“For Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“You want him to join us for Christmas lunch?” Eugenia asked. It was just a question, no malice in it but no eagerness either.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, straightening his back, “That is the idea.”

Reginald then asked, “Does Sherlock know?”

For a moment Mycroft’s anger flared up. _I am cleaning up after your younger son, someone you’ve ever been able to influence or control and who you mostly spoiled to make up for the lack of time spent with him, and you want me to involve him in decisions about me and my life?_ “How is Sherlock a reference point here dad,” he said solemnly, remembering he was forty and not a child anymore, “He will know when he needs to, you know now is not the right time.”

“Your father is asking this because he had nearly killed Sherlock once,” Eugenia said, “But then, Sherlock and he made plans together to disappear and worked closely on taking down the web, I suppose the Irish lad has redeemed himself somewhat.”

“I’d say he has,” Reginald added, “You sure your brother has no further animosities with him?”

“It is _Sherlock_ after all,” Mycroft answered in a sour and dry tone, resisting an eyeroll, “Who can really be sure what he wants or feels or thinks. You may have to ask him once he returns. As I said, they had parted on good terms before Jim came to me to give the report on the assignment so far. He stayed with me at my place, we fell in love, started staying together as a couple and now…..” He paused, nurturing the card close to his chest. That was his trump card and he’d play it now, knowing fully well the next revelation would hit home very hard. “…….Now there is a slight change in that status,” he continued, “Of us as a _couple_ , because soon we shall become _three_.”

Maybe because they hadn’t expected their sons to beget heirs anytime soon or any time _ever_ , neither parents reacted at first. They kept looking at Mycroft, as if expecting the next sentence or the next leg of the story from their son. Unnerved at the silence, Mycroft was about to open his mouth and repeat the information when his mummy suddenly stood up and rushed forward towards him.

“He is an omega?”

“Yes, yes he is.”

“ _Pregnant_? Your child?”

“Mummy of course, why would I be here if it was not.”

“Sorry-Sorry that came out wrong, I-I am so, I am just so….Oh God what a news….Reg?”

Reginald Holmes was grinning. His teeth were bared, the corners of his eyes crinkled and there was a glow on his face that Mycroft remembered seeing only twice before. One was the day Sherlock was born and the next time was when Mycroft was knighted. The normally calm and expressionless man, who spoke little and smiled even less, now seemed like a happy child who had just discovered candy.

“We-we will be grandparents,” Eugenia was in her husband’s arms and before Mycroft’s stunned eyes, the parents hugged and kissed, then danced a jig. Their first-born gaped as he watched. Gosh, they really wanted grandkids didn’t they, wonder why didn’t they ever mentioned it before?!

“Oh my God, I need to hear this again and heart it,” Reginald walked over to his son and thrust his hand out, “Congratulations my son. Mike, you should have started with this news first.”

“Yes,” his wife exclaimed, already looking into her phone and checking something, “For an hour he kept building it all up, as if he was about to deliver some real bad news. My back was aching from sitting like that, stiff and tense and taut with listening.”

Mycroft felt twenty pounds lighter and asked, “Next time, I will start with the best news _first._ What are you looking at mummy?”

He had never seen his mother _so excited and happy_ , _so eager_ to do something. She had always been a picture of poise and elegance, never willing to be rushed, never too keen to show urgency. But today it had all changed and she excitedly showed Mycroft a bunch of pictures that had popped up on the search engine. It was all about baby rooms, nurseries, childcare cubicle or whatever other fancy name one could think of, colorful walls and bespoke cribs, toys and tiny tot furniture, bedclothes, blankets and curtains in vibrant prints. “How many months gone is he?” She asked, the look in her eyes suggesting she wanted to hear _eight_ or ‘almost’ _nine_. “Four and half,” said Mycroft, smiling.

Eugenia didn’t seem to get bogged down. Her expression faltered for just a split second before she perked up again. “Oh well, we don’t have time. We must build a nursery here, right away in fact, what do you think Reg?”

Mycroft eyed his father wearily. Surely his old man was going to shoot down the ridiculous idea of building a nursery _right away_.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Reginald said in a wise tone and Mycroft smiled and nodded. At least his dad was not acting like he had gone back to childhood all over again. But his smile was short-lived when his old man added, “Why just the nursery, _I am going to build a tree house and a sand pit underneath it for our grandkid….and a splash pool on the side_.”

***

As Mycroft had half expected, Jim was awkward and tense when he entered the luxurious and sprawling stately home owned by his parents in the countryside but five minutes into their visit it was Mycroft who felt left out.

His mummy and daddy fawned and fussed over Jim, treating him like the most precious treasure in the world and Jim, a _cruel_ and _dangerous_ criminal boss of yesteryears, seemed to melt under the attention.

Never before had Mycroft seen him so coy, cute and glowing with inner peace and joy. The darkness behind his doe eyes had disappeared, not even a sliver of the shadows remained. His smile was pure and unadulterated, not even an ounce of pretense or compulsion in it. He looked relaxed, easy and open, as if he was with his own parents and not Mycroft’s. The elder scion of the family sat in a corner of the spacious living room and watched, wondering how an unborn tiny little life could change adults in such big, massive ways. It made him feel both curious and emotional.

Later as the turkey, salmon, pasta and pudding lunch was polished off with great gusto, Jim and Reginald chatted while Mycroft tailed his mummy and entered the kitchen. She raised an eyebrow when he started to help with the dishes.

“I see James and the baby have already left some really positive effects on you,” she said while she washed the dishes while he dried them and put them away in the modular crockery holder, “This time the Christmas gifts were really thoughtful and sweet. Your daddy really digs those cigars and Bourbon you got for him, not to mention those lovely whiskey glasses that would occupy the pride of position in his bar cabinet. I, on the other hand, I just….” She looked down at the three string natural pearl necklace she was wearing, the first and third strings milky white while the second string was a powder pink in color. “……This is amazing, just the king of jewelry a woman of my age would love to wear.”

“His choices, all of them,” Mycroft said, admitting defeat, “You are right about the influences. I was planning to give you the same as every year, holiday vouchers, club membership or subscriptions to magazines and book stores. But he dragged me out last afternoon, for these.”

“What did you give him?”

“We haven’t really gifted each other anything. He has everything, as do I.”

“Are you off your mind Mike? Gifting is not about someone needing something desperately. It’s about giving someone an item or experience they’ll treasure, something that will bring a smile on their faces. James of course has already given you a big present this year, the baby. Now the question is, what will you give him to show how indebted you feel, how happy this makes you? He-he carries the future of our family in him, this baby will keep the family lineage going. Do you understand what that is?”

Mycroft took the last dish from her and dried it. “I do,” he replied, “Just surprised that you never mentioned grandkids or a desire to have them in all these years. It seems you were really thirsting to hear the pitter patter of little feet in the house again.”

“Thirsting, starving, whatever you may call it,” she answered, looking a wee bit wistful, “Never said a word because frankly speaking, I never expected any one of you to procreate.”

“Ouch,” Mycroft smiled a little.

“You seem happy, you smile a lot more now,” his mother observed, gently patting his hand as she stepped past him, “I like that, a lot. I wish Sherlock was here too…” she paused and straightened her expression, “Thanks for helping with the dishes and do buy a gift for James.”

She nearly ran into Reginald who was just entering the kitchen, looking a bit hassled. “Where is the blanket I usually keep in the study Eug?” He asked, “James was tired, poor thing, and flaked out on the couch. He seems chilled.”

Later Mycroft sat on a chair next to the couch, watching Jim who slept soundly on the couch, huddled under a fluffy blanket. Pregnancy was taking its toll on him. Earlier it was the morning sickness, now it was the fatigue. He slept often, slept long hours and slept very deeply.

Mycroft felt some strange thoughts enter his mind. Was this his happiness or borrowed smiles that were meant for this brother and would duly return to him the moment he came back to London? That day was not too far away, just like the day Jim would give birth. There were worries, fears as well, of Jim’s childbirth and the risk to his life and that of the unborn child. Omega pregnancies in males were often complicated and far riskier than female pregnancies, alpha or omega, especially in the last stages of the final trimester. Many omega males tired easily of pushing the baby out, many went into seizures, others had to go through a C-section. Mycroft shuddered and closed his eyes, imagining the moment.

For the first time in many years he was _scared_.

***

Another month passed and Jim started to _show_.

What had started off as a cute rounding of the belly soon became a small dome and jutted out, unless he was wearing a very loose and oversized T shirt. Mycroft bought him maternity outfits but for some reason Jim loved wearing Mycroft’s clothes.

So one evening, which was cold and drizzling outside, the two men sat with their hot cocoa in bed and watched a movie. Jim was wearing a pair of loose boxer shorts and one of Mycroft’s T-shirts on top. As always, he looked lovely and a fiercely possessive and protective streak grew inside Mycroft as he wrapped an arm around the omega. Maybe due to his pregnancy and the natural need to be nurtured and protected by an alpha, Jim had begun to seem more and more dependent on the elder Holmes sibling.

“Hand me my cocoa,” he whined.

“It’s on the nightstand on your side of the bed….okay, don’t look so fierce, I’ll get that for you.”

Mycroft leaned over Jim and reached out, grabbing the mug and held it before Jim. “Here,” he said when Jim made no move to take it, “Hold it. I thought you wanted some more of this cocoa, right?”

“My hands are cold and they’re under the blanket.”

“Okay, so?”

“You hold the mug for me.”

Mycroft knew one thing for sure. Even about six months ago if anyone had told him that Jim Moriarty, the ruthless criminal and killing machine, would be sitting next to him in bed, folded like a kitten and whining about cold hands, asking him to hold the mug of cocoa for him to sip from, he would have sent them to some correction facility. But truth was sometimes stranger than fiction and he was watching mutely as the most pleasant surprises passed through his life one by one. He was now not only attached to Jim but also to the unborn pup. Somehow, during all these months of caring for Jim and sharing his life, Mycroft had almost forgotten that the child was _not biologically his_. “What happened?” Jim elbowed him gently and stared at him through big brown eyes. _The crazy glint in them was missing_.

“What? Nothing.”

“You suddenly tensed up.”

“No, nothing like that. More?”

“It’s over, the drink. Now I know there _certainly_ is something on your mind Mike, something that is _bothering_ you. Otherwise you might have noticed I finished the cocoa and you’re holding an empty mug before my chin.” Jim squinted at him, his curious, judicious and searching glance, “I see you zone out at times when we are sitting together. Is it someone you miss?”

Mycroft startled, “NO, oh God, no, not at all. That is _absurd_. It is nothing like that at all.”

Jim shrugged and raised his brows, “He doth protest too much.”

“James, it’s nothing of that sort. I just get worried about work, sometimes about your health, sometimes about my brother who is still on a mission, that’s all.” He had avoided calling his brother by the name, he just said brother or sibling and left it at that. “Were you in love, before?” Jim asked suddenly, snuggling into Mycroft’s arms, “With anyone?”

“Some flings in high school and college. Pubescent horny teenager that I was. No feelings attached. But that phase went quickly. In my early twenties I had a relationship, the only one long enough to be called so, lasted three years. But different things drove us apart.”

“What things?”

He wants to know my past and I am letting him take a broad look at it, whereas with others I don’t even offer a peek. He is changing me or I am changing myself to become something I always wanted to be? Or maybe I am not changing. People do not really change, do they? _They are merely revealed_.


	8. Make an honest man of him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gives in and falls truly in love

“What kind of things drove you apart?” Jim asked insistently. He was taut with anticipation and frowning, his most stubborn look, and Mycroft knew there was no way of avoiding an answer.

“No one thing in particular but a good many different sorts of things,” the older man replied, brushing back Jim’s hairs with his fingers.

Jim pouted and muttered ‘That’s not an answer’ and a bemused Mycroft kissed Jim’s cheek as they continued to remain in bed in bliss, enjoying the intimacy. He had long stopped resisting his body and soul’s needs and given in to these moments. Having this pregnant omega in his arms meant a lot to him and over a period of time he had started feeling connected to the life growing inside Jim. He gently touched Jim’s stomach, caressed it and replied, “We wanted different things from life,” he said, scenting Jim as he heard the omega purr, “Different outlooks, different desires, hence we went in different directions. It was a man and no, we are not in touch. I don’t even know where he is now.”

“Good,” Jim yawned, making Mycroft wonder what he meant with that single word response, “Going to take a nap now.”

He smelled of happiness and fertility, ripe berries and fresh grass, the faint scent of a glacier. Mycroft watched him as he slept, before he gently pulled down the covers and watched his hand draw circles on the not so flat stomach of his companion.

_I can’t imagine life is being created in there. The person I associated with anarchy and arson is now creating a life instead of destroying it. If this is not a miracle, then what is!_

And so their lives continued, Jim swelling with the child and glowing and looking prettier by the day, while Mycroft continued to work hard as usual, but also smartly enough to get ample downtime to spend time with Jim. “Pregnancy suits you,” he said to Jim as he brought him several gifts, things that could keep Jim occupied as the omega was not exactly working during these times. Not that Jim missed work, Mycroft noticed that Jim enjoyed his downtime too and not even once he had noticed the omega up to something suspicious. Their neat little world was protected by a cocoon of privacy and love, mostly from the Holmes parents and Mrs. Devon, and Mycroft hardly ever felt the need to meet anyone outside of work or the happy domesticity he was enjoying.

One day, as he was buying a much belated Christmas present for Jim, he ran into Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft knew the DA’s fondness for him and tried to smile, wave and a avoid a conversation but Greg came right into the showroom with a broad smile on his face.

“Mr. Holmes!”

“DI Lestrade.”

“What are you doing in a Rolex store, buying your 10th Rolex I suppose?” Greg asked jovially, still holding on to Mycroft’s hand, “I see one on your wrist already.”

As if fate had decided to intervene, the store manager came charging at his most lucrative customer and said, “The Daytona Oyster Albino is packed and ready sir, do you want me to include some Swiss chocolates or Belgian pralines with it, flowers also maybe?”

There was total silence for a few moments as all three men stood close by, the manager staring at Mycroft, Mycroft staring at Lestrade and Lestrade’s eyes on the store manager and the beautiful package he held in his hands. Mycroft groaned inwardly as the man added excitedly ‘I have embossed his name behind the watch, to personalize it as you asked.’ _This was the last thing he needed_ , an inadvertent revelation of the most private matters. He could see Greg Lestrade stand straighter and turn his head sharply towards the manager, his eyes saucer-like. Now there was no way he could get away with ‘This is a gift to myself’. “Yes please, flowers and Belgian pralines would be a great idea, thanks a lot Mr. Townsend.”

“Right away.”

Townsend left and Mycroft looked at Greg who had let go of his hand. For a second he looked a bit disheartened. _I can’t do anything about his disappointment_ , Mycroft consoled himself _, I had never led him on or promised anything_. If anything, he had mostly discouraged the DI from harboring any expectations from him.

“It is a belated Christmas and early birthday present for someone,” he said by means of an explanation before Greg could ask anything.

“I thought so,” the Scotland Yard officer said, stepping back a bit and putting some distance between himself and the Mi5 and Mi6 chief.

“Okay, but _how_?”

“I might not be you _or Sherlock_ ….” He paused, showing how much Sherlock’s absence hurt him still, “…..sorry, Sherlock’s level of genius, but I am certainly not stupid, neither was I born yesterday. The commissioner was saying the other day that you haven’t been at the Bagatelle club or the High Rochester Club for months, when I call your office I often hear you’re working from home or you’ve left early, so it adds up eventually. I knew you may have found _someone_.”

“Greg, I…..”

“It’s all right really. I know some things are not meant to be. I had perhaps hoped for too much.”

“I didn’t plan this. It just happened.”

The DI showed both maturity and composure and a big hint of generosity as he replied with a wistful but wry smile, “I can’t even be upset because that’s what happens to all of us. We fall for those we least expect to grow close to. It is not a planned move, it just happens and suddenly you find yourself too deep in there.”

Mycroft had nothing else to say but he felt he should say something. A part of him was dreading the question ‘Is he someone I know’ but fortunately Greg didn’t get intrusive around this. After a few general discussions around work, Scotland Yard and London, the two parted.

***

Jim looked at the watch in awe, his mouth open and his eyes wide. His belly was protruding now, not really that massive but it showed a lot more on his otherwise slender frame that had more or less remained unchanged. He complained about his expanding middle but to Mycroft it was the best look yet on the Irishman. His face was the only other part of his body that reflected the pregnancy, the cheeks had filled out and his skin glowed from the hormones and pheromones spiking and blooming inside him. It was this very face that suddenly came close, too close to Mycroft and before the older man knew it, a kiss was pressed to his lips. Mycroft gasped, even though the kiss was like a butterfly one that had just ghosted his lips and withdrawn, it had made him rock hard in seconds.

“Only four were ever made,” Jim was oblivious to his situation and caressing the gift, “How did you even manage to get hold of one?”

“It was gifted to the Duke of Edinburgh,” Mycroft explained, trying to put some distance between himself and Jim, “A gift from an Italian marquis. The Duke, old as he was and quite austere these days, decided to sell it back and donate the money to charity. He had worn it only once, that was what was told to me…..” he was cut off by Jim extending his hand towards him and offering him the watch and the wrist. “You want me to?” Mycroft asked and Jim nodded enthusiastically. He began to put it around the younger man’s wrist, trying not to get impacted by his sweet and spicy scent.

_Honey, mango, cinnamon. Yummy._

_No Mycroft, get a hold over yourself._

_Yes, I do need to hold myself, touch myself, get some relief, or I shall end up jumping him._

“James,” he said, his breathing slightly labored, “I…Um….I need to make an important phone call. I will be in my h-home office.”

“Okay,” Jim was inspecting the watch with hearts in his eyes.

Mycroft immediately headed for his home office but instead of staying there, he entered the attached bathroom, shut the door with his foot and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. His suit jacket and waistcoat were gone already, he didn’t know when and where. Maybe he had dropped them in the home office, he didn’t care.

He had to touch himself.

His erection bobbed free, hot and hard. The smell of musk and arousal greeted his nose and his libido spiked, even if the scent was his own his brain conjured up images of a naked Jim spread out beneath him and the scent of his sex and musk greeting his nostrils. He couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped him as he fondled himself, before wrapping his fingers around his hard and hot member and giving it long strokes. Images of Jim swirled in his head and he prayed that he didn’t get aroused in bed at night. Of late he had started feeling a hard-on in the middle of the night or early morning and it didn’t subside unless he got off. Trips to the bathroom had taken care of that but it was certainly the most uncomfortable situation.

He was getting closer but the lack of Jim in his arms impacted him this time. It was like spotting a window but unable to open it. It frustrated him in more than one way and he growled out in frustration, thrusting into his fist as he continued to work on his length desperately. He was so absorbed in this act that he neither heard the door open nor did he see Jim step in.

When he did, it was too late to stop or hide or pretend to be using the toilet. He was caught already. Mycroft had just opened his mouth to say something when Jim spoke.

Eyes on the hard cock between Mycroft’s fingers he spoke in a voice that was pure sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you feel this way too? I was thinking for weeks that I was alone in this Mikey. I saw you leave the bed and head to the bathroom, spend too much time there, and I was so sad thinking it was some random hooker giving you phone sex at that late hour.”

“What? No. It’s only been…..”

“Say it.”

“James….leave the bathroom. Give me some privacy.”

“Say it Mike. I know it already. We both do.”

Mycroft wished he could disappear. He simply couldn’t tell Jim a white lie, nor could he tell him the truth and spoil the beautiful friendship and companionship they enjoyed. His silence made Jim angry and the Irishman moved closer until he was pressed against Mycroft’s body.

“James….I…..you’re gorgeous and precious to me, the baby is….it’s everything we wanted….”

“Is it just about my baby?”

Beautiful caramel brown eyes, doe-like eyes looked up at him, shining with need, expectations and clear arousal and Mycroft slipped, he slipped and slid and fell right into the charms and attraction that was James Moriarty, the remaining self-control he had left quickly ebbing as Jim went on his knees and took him in his mouth.

“Holy Moses,” Mycroft groaned and banged his head against the wall behind him, thrusting into the hot and wet mouth that seemed to suck his brains out through his cock.

***

Mycroft’s eyes were fixed on Jim’s face as he finger fucked him while sucking the head of the Irishman’s erection. After cumming so hard that he had forgotten his middle name, Mycroft felt a strong urge to give something back to the younger man who had left him breathless in afterglow. So Jim was now sprawled out on the couch at the corner of his home office, writhing and throwing the cushions around whilst he pleasured him. Fingers buried knuckle deep into the velvety soft heat of Jim’s arse, Mycroft relished the taste of the omega like the taste and flavors of a delightful and delectable forbidden fruit. The fact that Jim was pregnant made him cautious but it didn’t deter him from his desires.

If anything, he wanted to do this all the more.

“Ohhh-hhhhh,” Jim’s back arched off of the couch as Mycroft located the sensitive bundle of nerves inside the omega. Pregnancy had made him extra sensitive because with every touch of his fingers or his mouth, Jim moaned louder and writhed harder, spreading his legs and offering himself to Mycroft like a homage, a possession, a claim. The alpha side of Mycroft, long kept subdued by the man’s desire to ‘not encourage the primal instincts of his alpha self’, now came out full force and with uncontrollable momentum. He wanted to fuck this man into oblivion, the only thing holding him back was his protective instincts towards the baby.

“Mike….oh God Mike,” Jim lifted his head, staring at Mycroft with huge eyes.

Mycroft moaned and hummed around his mouthful. He knew what it did to the former mastermind and he enjoyed seeing him come apart.

“No…stahp…I’m gonna….oh fuck can’t hold it….MIKE!”

Jim screamed out loud. He tried to push Mycroft away but the older man held on with remarkable determination, forcing Jim to cum right there. With a low keening cry and a repeat of his name, Mycroft felt Jim climax.

His cock throbbed hard on Mycroft’s tongue and the muscles of his arse spasmed against Mycroft’s fingers as the younger man finally shot his load. As the alpha’s mouth was flooded with the taste of his lover, he felt a second mini-orgasm shudder through him and wetness spread on his right thigh, on which his cock rested. Mycroft swallowed Jim’s essence, neither repulsed by it nor finding it choking him, everything going down so smoothly that Mycroft felt he had been doing this for ages. He sucked and sucked until there was nothing left for Jim to give, at which point he withdrew his fingers and licked the softening cock clean, then placed a chaste kiss on Jim’s pubes.

“Mi-Mike….”

Mycroft adjusted his clothes after wiping them off with tissues from his desk. “Yes James?” He asked gently, looking at the debauched and sated omega, feeling overwhelmed as deep emotions stirred within him. Jim just extended his arms and made a small silent plea, which Mycroft correctly interpreted as a sign of exhaustion and the need for a nap. “Yes, you need some shuteye,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek, “Let me help you.” He helped Jim dress and then carried him upstairs carefully, feeling the omega rest his right cheek against his chest, relaxing and falling asleep already. He was nearly at the top of the stairs when he almost ran into Mrs. Devon. She raised her brows briefly before quickly walking ahead and holding the bedroom door open for them. 

Later, as he came downstairs, she was waiting for him there. He hoped the conversation would be short. His head was too full of thoughts. He still couldn’t believe what he had just done. He needed time alone, he needed to think, to ponder.

“Sir.”

“Yes?”

“Just wanted to say….I am very happy for you. He is good for you as you are perfect for him, you seem to bring out the best in each other. I also feel that the baby will be a great bond between you two.”

“Thanks. It is a great responsibility.”

“If you wish…and excuse my forwardness…..do make an honest man of him.”

Mycroft had to exert supreme effort to rein in the gasp that bubbled up to this throat. “We will have dinner a bit late, at eight-thirty,” he said by means of changing the topic, “Let him sleep for an hour and half at least. Thanks Mrs. Devon.”

Once he was in his home office he sank into his chair and rested his head on the smooth, polished surface of his desk. One part of him felt he had done the right thing. James belonged to him now. The other part mocked the first one and reminded him that Jim loved Sherlock.

_You are but a poor replacement for your brother. He is close to you because he has no one else. What happens when Sherlock returns and if he has a change of mind about his mate?_


	9. Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No need to apologize,” Jim’s voice was metal, “I have to get used to this.”

“Is it safe to have sex at this stage?”

Mycroft nearly fell off his chair as Jim asked this unexpected question, innocence written large on his face. “What?” He looked sideways at Mycroft as if they had discussed this before, which they of course hadn’t, “She is not just your friend but my doctor. Who _else_ would I ask?”

Stella stifled a laughter and looked pointedly at Mycroft, “Now-now-now Crofty, I am not the naïve little girl you knew back at school nor are you the science geek who was fat and without girlfriends…..or boyfriends. You and I both know a couple living together has sex. That is how the baby came into existence, didn’t it?” She nodded reassuringly at Jim, “I do not remember ever asking you to stop James, but in case you have, then _no need_. Just don’t be too adventurous, keep things calm and not too vigorous. In fact one of the books your partner gave you has a section on ‘safe positions’ during the third trimester. Go by those and you should be fine, as would be the baby.”

Mycroft couldn’t stop blushing and due to his fair skin, he looked like a tomato.

“Good grief,” Stella said, winking at Jim, “Does he blush like this when….?” She left the question unfinished and allowed Jim to guess.

Jim snickered, “No, on the other hand whenever he sees me he looks at me as if I am a snack. Om-nom-nom-nom!”

“Oh wow, he has changed with age. Crofty was always such a prude.”

“Prude but never repressed. I heard he was quite the lean mean sex machine when he was in high school and first year of college.”

“You bet. That was another phase, the wild and bohemian one when he had long hair and smoked weed and lost so much weight he looked like a stick insect with a bobble head. But I have never seen him in love. This would be the first time so per my opinion you are quite the charmer and enchanter James. Crofty you did _very well here_ , I think he is cute, intelligent, has a very pretty smile and he must be great to live with, isn’t it?”

“You two are talking about me and I am right here,” Mycroft grumbled.

“So?” Jim and Stella asked together.

Mycroft smiled, despite his embarrassment. “Well, you are right Stella, I have to give you that. I have never been happier, never felt so comfortable in my skin.”

Jim gave him an adoring look that made something sigh deep in Mycroft’s heart.

***

“You sure?” Mycroft asked for the umpteenth time as he stroked himself a couple of times and spread a dollop of lube on it. He was aroused, his erection was so hard and aching that it curved right upwards at his chin and leaked at the tip. He had to keep touching it, lightly though, to relieve some of the pressure he felt.

“As sure as I am James and Joshua is my baby,” Jim harrumphed, kicking at Mycroft’s side in annoyance, “What else do you need to fuck me? The Queen’s permission? You bet even her kids didn’t ask for that before engaging with their partners.”

“Smart mouth, motor mouth,” Mycroft murmured, smacking Jim’s bottom as he turned the Irishman to his side. Jim muttered ‘Guilty as charged’ and lifted a leg to give him easy access. Carefully spooning the pretty omega, Mycroft guided his erection to the already loosened and prepared opening, holding his breath as he felt the ring muscle cling tight to the thick head of his cock. A little more pressure and it yielded, drawing him into a cavern that was warm and tight and immediately closed snugly around him. A curse left his throat as blood rushed southwards and Mycroft wished he had milked himself an hour ago. It had been quite some time since he had engaged with an escort, maybe over a year, and on top of that Jim was so sexy and alluring that his already fragile self-control was slipping away.

“Moooove!” Jim pleaded.

“Wait, wait, wait please,” Mycroft panted, “Just let me….!!”

Jim whined but stopped urging or pushing back, giving his older lover time and space to regain his self-control. The thick cock was lodged in him, root to tip, and he was aching to be taken and for his sweet spot to be brushed over and over again. Shaking with need, he reached for his own cock, but Mycroft beat him to it. The older man stroked it just the way Jim liked, twisting strokes and the occasional rub of the thumb over the slit, making him moan and buck up into that fist.

“Okay now,” Mycroft let out a puffed breath.

He began to move and Jim lost himself to the sensations. He moaned in the sweetest manner and writhed in the hottest way possible, his still-svelte body rubbing sensuously against Mycroft, his dark head resting on one of Mycroft’s arms and his arse pushed backwards. Mycroft drank in the sight and in that split second he understood Sherlock’s fascination towards this former criminal mastermind.

_Jim could be anyone’s undoing._

Mycroft nuzzled the back of Jim’s neck and breathed him in. The omega smelled delicious.

“Mmmm,” Jim moaned and turned his head, opening his lips and showing some tongue and teeth, “Kiss me Mikey, please kiss me.”

Mycroft froze for an instant. Kissing was the most intimate act according to him, even more than lovemaking. He had only once ever kissed someone. But with Jim’s breathy request he realized he couldn’t wait to fulfil it. _God, he had craved it for months without realizing it._

He dove in and even though at first it felt a bit awkward, soon the two men began to get into the groove and couldn’t disengage even though the lower part of their bodies kept moving in unison. Mycroft’s hand on Jim’s dick stalled and Jim didn’t even feel it. His eyes had fluttered shut, as had Mycroft’s and they continued their lip lock and the awesome exploration of each other’s mouths. Soon Jim moaned into the kiss and Mycroft found himself responding with equal vigor and enthusiasm, plundering the smaller man’s mouth the same way he kept fucking him with passion. His hand began to move too, fondling and stroking Jim’s swollen phallus.

The all-round assault proved to be too much for Jim and finally, when Mycroft had nudged his prostate a bit too hard, the smaller man screamed and tore his mouth free. His hands smacked on the sheets next to him as he appeared to be going into a seizure and Mycroft would have been worried had he not felt the spasms in his lover’s channel. Jim was close to cumming and the delectable contractions of his channel were matched by the severe throbbing in Mycroft’s soon to be erupting dick.

“J-James…baby,” he groaned, “I’ll cum….”

“Inside me,” Jim was shaking all over, “D-Don’t _dare_ pull out.”

“I-I have _no_ such int-intention!”

“Ohhhh, Mike, oh-oh-oh-yes-yes!”

“Oh fuck! Oh my God! So close! Fuck! JAMES!”

Warm cream coated Mycroft’s palm and fingers at the same time as a copious flood of seed flooded Jim’s near-virginal channel. Their bodies undulated and shuddered at the same time and Mycroft bit down on Jim’s neck without even realizing it while Jim sucked a bruise on Mycroft’s bicep as he climaxed, lips and teeth sinking into the skin and marking it.

“Hnnnnn.”

“Oh…..James.”

“Mike…..fuck, that was….!!”

Mycroft’s head and body were buzzing so good he had trouble speaking for a few seconds. Finally he regained enough control over his body and mind to rasp, “So good. It was so good, _thank you_ , thanks a lot baby!”

As Mycroft softened and slipped out, Jim turned in his arms and rested his head on the older man’s shoulder, turning his face up for a kiss. It was a slow and sweet one and Mycroft affectionately kissed the tip of Jim’s nose as well. “So _finally it happened_ and that too when I am seven months pregnant,” Jim snickered and snuggled deeper into the Mi6 chief’s arms.

Again Mycroft said something he had never planned to spill from his mouth. Maybe because the amazing sex had fried his brain and he had let his guard down without even realizing. “You _came_ to me _pregnant_ ,” Mycroft said and did a facepalm immediately with his free had, “Sorry, so very sorry, I have no idea why I don’t seem to have the filters when I am with you. With the world I can always keep up a mask but the moment I see _you,_ I am _with_ you, the mask crumbles and I have this strange urge to just be myself. Just Mycroft, not the man who leads Mi5 and Mi6 and has a knighthood…..apologies baby, what I meant was that your pregnancy makes you more attractive, not less.”

“No need to apologize,” Jim’s voice was metal, “I have to get used to _this_.”

“Used to what?”

“Being reminded of my mistake.”

  
“No. James you don’t need to torture yourself over this. The baby is sacred, adored, awaited and precious. He is NOT a mistake.”

“Josh is not,” Jim sighed, “But me thinking Sherly and I were meant to _last_ , was.”

Mycroft didn’t really want to discuss his younger brother right now, not when his body was so pleasantly buzzing with afterglow and Jim felt so good, _so right_ , in his arms. But he sensed Jim needed to offload some angst, maybe some wistful sadness, the baggage he carried along. He indulged him on that and asked gently, “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, if that makes you feel any better.”

Jim was quiet for a long time and Mycroft had almost assumed he was asleep. That was when the Irishman spoke.

“He did a lot for me, you know. Unlike others, he didn’t give up on me. He knew there was something inside me that was good, he knew I could be stable, happy, productive in a positive way. He took me to therapy, helped me with my addiction to meds, spent hours talking to me and listening to me. Looking back at those moments, I realize he was simply trying to help someone, trying to redeem a criminal, doing his bit to rid the society of an outlaw and at the same time helping the outlaw start afresh, on a good note. I on the other hand….”

Mycroft didn’t prod or probe or poke. He remained patient and silent and just waited for Jim to begin again. He could hear the smaller man’s thoughts though, they were _pretty loud_. Jim was clearly struggling to cope with the truth of his relationship with Sherlock, he was debating with himself in his head.

He kissed Jim’s temple and stroked his naked back. Despite the situation and words and memories, the conversation that was less than comforting, he still felt blissfully happy. He tried to analyze why but no concrete answers formed in his head. Eventually he gave up and decided to _enjoy_ the bliss, the delight of being in bed with Jim in the middle of the day, a rare indulgence for both of them.

Jim took a few deep breaths and began again, this time his voice turning a bit hoarse with emotions. “He was doing what he did best, helping, reforming, doing something that was for the greater good and being on the side of angels. But as he said it himself, he _never_ claimed to be a wingless angel on earth. He was on their side but not one of them. I was stupid, I looked at him as my angel, despite all his warnings and denials. When the baby happened, our relationship was already quite strained. He was insistent I go back home or settle in a country of my choice, maybe somewhere in US where I could be close to my former aides, Sebby, Irene, Arthur, Jacob and Evangeline. He thought I had purposefully missed my birth control, so I could lock him in.”

“Sheesh,” Mycroft closed his eyes. _Tactless, guileless Sherlock_. As usual.

“I have never begged. But that was one day I did.”

“You didn’t need to. But then there is no shame in begging when you have a just cause for it.”

“My baby doesn’t need his support. I have money, plenty of it, enough for Josh and even his kids live like princes and lords without having to lift a finger all their lives. If I wanted, I could have gone to Sebby, or Maupertuis. They would have gladly looked after me and the baby.”

“Then…then why did you come to me?” _Mycroft had to ask_ this question. He needed to know where he stood.

“I have tried to think about it many times,” Jim murmured, his voice filling with sleep, “But I don’t have an answer as of yet. I just like being here, I like it when you come home to me, I like baking cakes for you, I love the gifts you give me, I enjoy this….being like this with you, lazy and cozy Sundays and evenings spent watching movies and being in the same room….even if we don’t talk to each other.”

“……It still feels good, just knowing you’re around,” Mycroft concluded, able to read the part that was left unsaid. It hit him like a thunderbolt that he was _falling in love_ with Jim. He was done for, _he was so done for_!

***

“I don’t know.”

The shrink adjusted his glasses and peered over them. “You don’t know what those feelings mean or you don’t want to think about them? Sometimes we do try to escape scrutiny, even if that scrutiny is _our very own_.”

Mycroft crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. He had sought therapy before but that was mostly for PTSD and stress, especially during his first five years in Mi6 and the two years he had spent at Mi5, in field duty. On delicate matters, personal matters as this, he had never sought any counsel. A deep thinker by nature and a loner by habit, he hardly ever shared anything with anyone. He had internalized this philosophy ‘Be your own best friend’. But now his best friend, his own self, had started to break up with him. He could no longer trust his own voice. “I am not an escapist really,” he began, cracking his knuckles, “But some deep-seeded fears and inhibitions do need an outlet. I am just not sure if those are just passing fancies or if they mean something deeper.”

Dr. Kinley leaned forward a little, “You seem to be unsettled. Even if you don’t want to show it.”

“That I am. It’s strange, isn’t it?”

  
“No. On the other hand I find this very natural. Men feel things deeper than women, most of the times, and they also carry more baggage because of that.”

“Because we don’t discuss such stuff as they so easily do?”

“Yes, absolutely. Also because when we _do love_ it is usually fairly, unfathomably deep. We can fake relationships much easier than our womenfolk do, but when we _do fall_ in love, it’s usually head over heels and helpless, arms and legs flapping and flailing kind of helpless.”

“I am actually scared,” Mycroft rubbed his hands over his face, “Scared that I am reading this completely wrong. He is vulnerable in his current state, he probably misses Sherlock…..”

“What indications has he ever given you of that?” The shrink asked, tapping his own temple with his pen, “Is it an assumption or do you have data/facts to support this feeling. Does he talk about Sherlock often, does he seem to miss him, does he try to get in touch with him, does he compare the two of you, does he often mention Sherlock and the times he spent with him, has he ever considered Sherlock as the actual father of his baby etc?”

Mycroft sat motionless, frozen, realization dawning on him that the answer to all those questions was a big NO. “He doesn’t,” he murmured, “I-I guess I am just….I keep going after a self-fulfilling prophecy….that _caring is not an advantage_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized it takes quite some effort for me to write explicit stuff involving the Iceman, hope I managed well.


	10. A Surprise and a Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Sebastian. Mycroft and Jim get a nasty little jolt.

Sherlock was shocked by the reaction from Sebastian, or lack of it. When the detective sprung a surprise on the former sniper at a pub in downtown Austin, he had expected anything but the calm, almost indifferent reaction from the blonde. He was thinking of anger, angst, annoyance, disappointment, even some bit of violence, but nothing close to this ‘nonchalance’.

“Hi,” he said, walking up to Sebastian who was chatting up a young couple at the bar, “I waved out at you.”

“So?” Sebastian shrugged and went back to his conversation, as if Sherlock was some virtual figure and not a real one. Sherlock kept glaring at the blond man, hoping his sharp as daggers stare would force Sebastian to have a conversation with him after all. But even though Sebastian’s young companions had noticed Sherlock, Sebastian himself didn’t show inclination to acknowledge his presence any further. But Sherlock was not one to give up and kept standing there, ordering a drink and putting it on Sebastian’s tab. Even that didn’t elicit a response from the blond man. He slid off his bar stool, asked the bartender to add Sherlock’s bill to his tab and excused himself to go to the washroom.

Sherlock made a beeline to follow but the young woman grabbed his arm and stopped him, much to his annoyance. “Are you also joining us tonight?” She asked, excitement heavy in her voice.

“For?”

“Me, Ian here and Jacques.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose. Okay, _so Sebastian was Jacques here_. He was being invited into a foursome for that night.

“No, I am merely here to talk.”

Ian, the young twink next to her, fingered Sherlock’s collar boldly and quipped, “That’s such a shame. You would have been the perfect sauce to top our three layered pie. You sure you do not want to reconsider and change your mind? Jacques is quite an _animal._ ”

“No,” Sherlock said, “I happen to like humans a bit better. As for you, _kid_ , I certainly hope you have something other than sex to give you happiness.”

“Come on,” the girl frowned, definitely not happy to see her boyfriend being ticked off, “Don’t _you_ like sex?”

“ _Everyone_ likes sex,” Sherlock said, “But _not all of them_ solicit, beg or offer as easily as you do. And I think it’s quite pathetic.”

***

Sebastian was washing his hands when Sherlock stepped into the washroom and locked the door. “What the….” The blond looked at him, aghast, “I am not giving you anything. Now please leave me alone.”

“I didn’t come here asking for sex,” Sherlock decided to correct his perception, “I am here to talk about Jim.”

“I wasn’t about to offer you either sex or information,” Sebastian snapped, drying his hands on a paper towel, “The instant I saw you enter the pub I knew what exactly you were looking for and I wasn’t going to give you even an iota of information on him. He and you are _over_. I didn’t approve of that relationship right from the beginning but he didn’t listen, he had to _burn his hands before he believed me_. Well, now he does believe me and he’d rather stay away from you. Those are _his_ words, not _mine_. Following me around like a lost puppy isn’t going to work in your favor Holmes, so just go back wherever you came from. Go back to John, yeah, isn’t he the one you want to continue with?”

“Where is Jim?” Sherlock asked, reaching discreetly for his knife.

The next moment the knife was knocked out of his hands as Sebastian shot it off his grip without harming even an inch of his skin. Sherlock was not one to surrender either and in less than a split second he had pulled out a pocket grenade, brandishing it with glee. “Now let’s see you do the same to this baby,” he snarled, “Shoot this thing off my hand at your own risk. Just tell me Jim’s new phone number, that is all I ask.”

“Why would I tell you?” Sebastian shot back, “Give me one good reason.”

“I will give you two,” Sherlock said, “I want to amend my mistake and at least support him as he carries the baby and gives birth. Second, I want to apologize to him and explain why I had to push him away those days. I am _only going to ask for ten minutes_ , that’s all.”

Sebastian looked away from the detective, hoping the brunette hadn’t noticed his shell-shocked expression. So Sherlock did have a heart after all and was either repenting or regretting. Or did he just want to do the right thing by supporting the expecting father and looking after their child after it was born? Whatever it was, he was not being that cold, heartless and insensitive arsehole that Jim had faced a few months ago and nearly killed himself in grief over it.

Maybe he deserved a chance after all.

“Meet me at this very pub, the day after tomorrow, same hour,” Sebastian said, “I shall see what I can do for you. But no promises.”

***

“Greg was closeted,” Mycroft murmured as he and Jim lay in bed one night, discussing matters neither of them would even dream of discussing with anyone else, “Even now he is. He fears if he comes out he won’t be considered butch enough.”

Jim was having trouble adjusting into a comfortable position, with his now-huge belly. He was seven and half months pregnant. “What do you feel about being an out and proud gay man? Too effeminate, not so virile, fairy, weakling?”

“I refuse to label people,” Mycroft answered quite truthfully, “And I refuse to judge them by who they sleep with or choose to wed. Had I been sleeping with a female or a regular married alpha with kids, I am certain I wouldn’t have become a better intelligence chief or done something superior with homeland security. But at the same time I don’t think that being gay and alpha gives me some privileges or baggage. It’s all about karma, hard work and working smart of course. I have always been out and no one dares to bat an eyelid. Maybe Greg works in a more traditional institution, a sort of a _boys club_ where certain behaviors are expected.”

“You are lucky. There are more Gregs than Mycrofts in this world. Even as a criminal mastermind, I had to _conceal_ things.”

“Did you James?”

“They knew me as a bisexual alpha.”

“But…. _were you bisexual_?”

“Yes, only to _cull favors_ and find out information, that too in my early twenties when I was gaining my space in London and later on with the world. Never enjoyed pussy and stopped entertaining fish-throwing females long ago, alpha-beta-omega alike. I had to use alpha-scent sprays, hormone and pheromone pills, suppress heats, do all it takes to keep this information sealed within a close circle. Seb knew, a few others knew, but that was all.”

“How did Sherlock know?”

They had become _comfortable discussing Sherlock_. Jim no longer tensed up at the mention of the sleuth’s name or coiled inwards into a ‘hurt-space’ whenever he remembered him. It was a sore point for him still, but no longer did that wound bleed. A faint scar was all that remained.

“He deduced,” Jim guffawed.

“Hmmfff.”

“Heh? What kind of a reaction is that?”

“I spent time with you too. Why didn’t _I deduce_?”

“Mycroft Holmes, Mikey, I can’t believe I am seeing and hearing this but-but….you _actually sound and appear jealous_ ,” Jim guffawed some more and started to chuckle and snicker, cuddling deeper into the older man’s embrace. Mycroft was a bit awkward with that revelation at first before it occurred to him that he was no longer the uptight man with a stiff upper lip anymore. Jim had humanized him in so many ways that the changes were quite remarkable. No longer did he feel ego and its unmistakable push but a tickling sense of humor, self-directed humor. Soon he was chuckling too and he turned his face downwards to peck the Irishman on the tip of his nose.

“I can confess to my jealousy if I am sure of one thing,” he said.

Jim suddenly spasmed. His face was pinched. “Wh-What thing?”

“Are you my man? My omega? My mate?”

“Uh….Mikey….I am not…..”

“I understand. It’s all right. Take your time to answer, think all you want and debate with yourself. Once you decide, _whatever your decision might be_ , I shall honor it completely. There will be no pressure from my side to make you _change_ your mind.”

“N-No, I am just….ah….?!”

Mycroft heard the pain in the voice and felt the shudders in Jim’s body. They were different from the usual. He wasn’t aroused or cold or tickled, the Irishman was _in pain_. “James, what is it,” Mycroft sat up in alarm and looked closely into Jim’s face, noticing the pinched look of agony and the fear that lurking underneath the surface, “Do you want me to call Stella or should we make a quick trip to the hospital?”

“Call….call her, no, no, just take me to the….her clinic.”

That was followed by a sharp cry from Jim that raised Mycroft’s heckles immediately. No, this wasn’t happening. Jim was still a good seven weeks away from delivery. His mind thought of several reasons and possibilities for Jim’s condition but none of them sounded correct. He had been blindsided by this sudden situation and cursed himself for it _. Oh God….Why hadn’t he kept a better and closer eye on the omega_?!?

“Right away,” he said, pulling back the sheets, then “Oh…..”

He didn’t mention to Jim what he saw on the _sheets_ beneath.

***

“Jeez,” Stella almost gasped as she walked up to Mycroft, “It is not so bad Mike, don’t look like you are already in mourning. He is fine, just sedated. Tomorrow morning you can take him home, once we have seen all the reports and consulted a second gynecologist.”

“The baby,” Mycroft asked, clasping and unclasping his hands. His palms were clammy with sweat and the general unease he felt inside.

“The baby is _fine_ , at least so far it is,” she sounded a bit tenser than a moment ago, “I thought for a moment that the placenta was disconnected but it seems to be fine, just a false alarm. Some kind of anomaly there but the baby is fine and fetal heartbeat is steady, mother is also stable. Good you brought the sheets with you. If there was fresh red blood I would be worried but it’s only spotting, brown discharge. It contains a bit of amniotic fluid which is common for male omegas in this condition to discharge a bit now and then. But he released six time more and a bit of blood mixed with it. Normally it’s not such a big deal but there were cramps and crippling pain, which is why I _don’t want to_ take _any_ chances.”

Mycroft felt as if a bad joke was being played on him. And Jim too. Was there no end to pregnancy woes for the poor omega? “You just told me he is fine, baby is fine, that I am worrying for no reason,” he huffed, annoyed and fidgety with the situation of uncertainty, “Then you are telling me you don’t want to take chances, that he is discharging more fluid, there was indeed a bit of blood in that discharge. What am I supposed to believe?”

She seemed taken aback for the briefest of moments before she answered in her unruffled, professional tone. “You are reading too much into my words, good and not so good. Not saying everything is shiny but it’s not a disaster either, at this point we have no reason to panic.”

“Sorry. I am just…..fraught with worry.”

“I understand that. Just give it a night and you will know. Either ways, I will try to safeguard _both mother and baby_.”

“Mother first, _James first_ , if he’s fine we can have babies again.”

“Yes,” she smiled and placed her hand over his, “Of course. But it won’t come down to such a tough, horrid and painful choice, believe me!”

“Is it because he is….he is an omega?”

“I did tell you omega pregnancies are tougher. But no, it’s not that really. See, each pregnancy is unique and every human reacts in their own unique way to biological issues and situations. In James’s case he has had a relatively healthy pregnancy, if not totally smooth.”

Mycroft smiled a bit feebly, “His morning sickness, his inability to gain weight, now this…..I am not even including the royal scare in the second month when he took some pills.”

“Mike,” Stella sighed, “I didn’t want to tell you but you’re too much of a clever man to just stay in the dark. I….um…this could be related to the attempted suicide, or should I call that incident a _self-attempted-abortion_ , when he was 8 weeks pregnant.”

***

“I don’t know how to say sorry for the stupid, idiotic mistake I made on a whim,” Jim wept, clearly distressed by the news, “Who else should I be apologizing to, aside from you Josh and…..” he looked teary eyed at Mycroft, “You too Mikey. You have been helping out, supporting me, doing your best for the baby and what am I giving you in return? The Holmes baby you so want in the family, I don’t think I can _even carry this baby_ full term. After what Stella said, I am just….I feel so useless Mike. It’s all my fault, isn’t it? All my sins are coming back to haunt me and _my karma_ is about to take the life of my child.”

“James,” Mycroft was texting his mummy to come over immediately to help out in this difficult time, “Stella just said we need to put you on bed rest for two weeks and that we need to do a sonography and a checkup twice a week instead of once a fortnight. Just _extra precautions_.”

Jim buried his face in the pillow and sobbed silently. To see the fear-inducing, threat-spewing, evil-eyed Moriarty in this vulnerable, inconsolable condition was perhaps incomprehensible to many and enjoyable to some, but to Mycroft if only brought a wetness to his eyes. He realized then, at that very moment as he placed his hand on the back of Jim’s neck, that he was really deep in here. He was totally, madly, utterly in love. Jim’s happiness, his sorrows, his joys, hopes, fears and thrills reached out to him at so many levels that he sometimes felt those were his own. Over the past few months, he had kept lying to himself that this was about a Holmes baby whilst falling in love with the omega father. He, the Iceman, had not just thawed but melted and become a puddle of affection.

“I am sorry Mike,” Jim continued as Mycroft pulled him into his arms, “I made a mistake. I had once tried to eliminate this child and now I am paying the price.”

“Listen to me and listen good,” Mycroft spoke with the sort of conviction that was typical of leaders, legends and lovers, “I am sure the baby will come out fine. But I still want you to know that this isn’t about the baby alone. It’s also about you.”

Jim’s eyes widened to the maximum possible. “Yes,” Mycroft sighed, “As long as you are fine, there can be more babies.” Jim closed his eyes and clung to Mycroft, “How? Sherlock and I have broken up.”

“I am NOT asking you to go back to Sherlock, James. I meant something entirely different.”


	11. Prying Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Sebastian can advocate Sherlock's cause, Jim gives him a happy news!

“Hello boss.”

Sebastian sounded like his usual self, a hint of excitement and awe in his deep voice as he connected with the man he adored and revered in equal measured. But because Jim knew him very well, he also picked up the undercurrent of hesitation and caution in him. “Sebby,” he said, “What’s wrong Tiger? Someone giving you grief over a license or some old enmity. I can _still fix things for you,_ you know.”

Sebastian’s voice grew even deeper and he almost purred out the answer, “As I would for you boss, _anytime, anywhere, anyone_.” His old attraction towards Jim flared up sometimes, even though he was well-aware the same feelings were not returned. Then, as if he had just realized what he had said, he huffed out the next sentence, “Except that there are ones who have let you down and are still living under your protection, hence I cannot wring their necks even if they truly deserve that. Do they even know or care how you look out for them? Take for example that confounded detective, who think I will give him your coordinates and contacts as and when he has a scratch that he needs to itch.”

“There is _only one example_ , Sherlock,” Jim cleared his throat, smiling wryly, “There is none else I have been that kind to. Practically no one. But then, Sherlock is my son’s father, even if all he did was help conceive him. I don’t want my son to grow up and ask me who his biological dad was and if he can meet him….with me answering ‘Oh no, I ordered his demise’. Right?”

“Right you are,” Sebastian sighed with disappointment, “There is no winning a debate or argument with you. I know you respect Sherlock despite how he behaved but sometimes it’s hard to forgive him because of the….the situation you are in. Living with the elder brother of the man who betrayed you, someone who once kept you in custody…..”

Sebastian’s intention was to bring the conversation to a point where he’d convince Jim to fly over to US and have the baby here, with him as a partner and Arthur, one of their other former aides, acting as a Godfather.

But Jim said something that not only threw cold water on his plans but also took him by _shock_ and _bafflement_.

“ _Don’t_ , please don’t feel sorry for me Tiger. I am much better off than you think. Mycroft loves me and wants to marry me. He wants to formally adopt the baby as well as to have more kids with me, which means brothers and sisters for my son, where _Mycroft is_ the biological father.”

“What?!?!”

“Not just that, he has introduced me to his parents and they adore me absolutely. His mummy Eugenia is here, taking care of me as I move into my 34th week.”

Whatever Sebastian wanted to say next died on his lips. He quickly formed a picture in his head, something he always did whenever he planned some big heist or assassination at Jim’s behest or a full-scale offense on the enemy army whilst in his days in service. An end to end picture with the pros and cons and eventual decision that would lean heavily towards benefits. Losses would mostly be collateral damage.

_In this case he felt Sherlock deserved to be collateral damage._

Jim and Mycroft, two men who were perfectly matched for each other. Jim had daddy issues due to his distant and often complicated relationship with his father. Mycroft, almost a decade older than Jim and very mature and stable, was the sort of ‘daddy’ figure that Jim needed. Not just wanted, but needed. His calming, balancing influence on Jim would pay rich dividends for their future together. Jim also had a brash streak that couldn’t be countered with more brashness, like Sherlock’s, but with the wise guidance and expert mentoring and support of a man in control of his life and impulses, aka Mycroft Holmes. Dull as ditch water he might be as compared to Sherlock, but he was the reliable, dependable, complete package.

_And it helped that Jim seemed to like him too, romantically and as a partner._

“Sebby? Where the fuck did you fuck off to?”

“Right here boss. Just-Just very happy for you.”

“Hmmm? That means you approve.”

“Yes, yes I do. I never trusted him before, simply because he was a Holmes and always took his brother’s side, but I suppose you are a Holmes too, the father of a Holmes baby, the omega who’s finally given that family an heir. He will be with you and on your side now.”  


He hadn’t expected Jim to sound this emotional as he added, “Not just on my side or for the baby. He actually loves me. I can see that….I can feel that.”

Sebastian found his jealous and possessive side melting away like chocolate in a microwave oven. He was quite a puddle already and Jim’s last words made him feel a strange warmth in his chest. “I suppose you have slept with the big bro by now, eh?”

“That’s none of your business fucker.” But Jim was laughing, belying the words he had just used, so he was definitely not angry or upset. That laugh and jovial tone meant a ‘yes’ to Sebastian’s _not so subtle_ question. “Tell me, will you be there when I give birth?” Jim asked, sounding more like he was pleading rather than commanding.

“Of course I will be. How many more weeks to go?”

“About 6 - 8 weeks according to the doc. Even now if the child is born he has a chance of surviving even without the aid of an incubator. But even if we have to use an incubator, it’s no problem really. The doctor is quite confident the baby is fine and will arrive into this world healthy, screaming and on a perfect Apgar score!”

“Just be careful though,” Sebastian couldn’t help but conclude the conversation with a note of warning, “Don’t take any unnecessary risks and do not exert yourself too much!”

***

Mycroft’s eyes became the size of tennis balls as he was ushered into the ‘mystery’ room. For weeks that room was under construction and renovation and redecoration and therefore he was forbidden from entering or even taking a peek into it. He couldn’t lie that sometimes he was tempted to do so, out of sheer curiosity and impatience, but Jim had put tapes across the door with ‘Police Line – Do Not Cross’ all over the door, reminding Mycroft of the rule he was about to break. Each time he attempted, he stepped back at the last moment because of his inherent tendency to uphold the law rather than break it.

_Now he knew why the wait had been totally worth it._

“Tadaaaa,” Mummy Holmes said as Jim beamed at her and Mycroft took in the sight of the nursery, “The most beautiful room in this house.” The elder Holmes sibling had to admit that his mummy and partner had outdone themselves completely with this. The room was large, airy and had plenty of light thanks to the bay window on one side and the French windows on the other. There was also a skylight at the end, just before the bay window, which served as an extension of the room and a sitting area. The walls were dual colored, milky white and powder blue. The ceiling had constellations painted on it, in glow paint. One area of the floor was sunken, a four feet by three feet rectangle, which had a blue base and had various squeaky and plush toys of sea-creatures scattered across it.

There was a large crib, a smaller cradle, three types of push strollers, a bouncing chair, two high chairs and even an education table with colorful stools around it. The curtains were painted in brilliant orange and gold and had nursery prints on them, matched with the baby’s bedding.

Besides a bathroom and a walk-in closet the room was connected to two more rooms through interconnected doors. One was a playroom with a separate area in one corner for an au pair to live in, the other was of course the master bedroom shared by Mycroft and Jim.

“I wish I had a room like this when I was….you know.”

“No Mike, I _don’t_ know. What exactly do you mean?”

“Mummy, my room looked like a grown-up’s room. Even my _first bed was a bed_ , not a cradle or crib and all these colors, these pretty and vibrant colors….my room had plain white walls.”

“It’s too late for you to crib about that now son, don’t you think?”

Jim listened, grinning, as mother and son bickered good-naturedly. The room was beautiful and he liked the way it had been done exactly to his specifications and wishes, thanks to the professionals employed by Eugenia. With the due date approaching, he was feeling more and more excited about the baby’s arrival.

He didn’t notice Mycroft looking at him through the corner of his eyes, his smile full of affection and gratitude. As mummy Holmes left the room to give them some privacy to enjoy the look and feel of the nursery, the older man wrapped his arm around the heavily pregnant omega. “The last checkup was a good one,” he said fondly and Jim nodded, “Stella said you can now move out of the house for short trips, involving no more than a car ride and maybe a sit-down dinner or a small concert with a selected and limited audience. Maybe even the theater! I was thinking, maybe this weekend we can go out for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant. The Michelin star one you so love!”

Jim was reluctant to say it aloud but he was indeed a bit bored. “Yeah,” he said happily, “That would be real nice.”

“And the next day, Sunday, we can watch the latest play at West End. They’re going to host Mouse Trap.”

“Hmmm, my kinda play.”

“Fancy the first row?”

“Yes! Yeah!! Yesss!!!”

“Good deal then, I will book a table as well as two tickets to the front row,” Mycroft kissed Jim’s temple, surprised at how easily he showed affection towards the smaller man nowadays, “Mummy will be leaving on Friday and I am sure you’ll miss her a lot. At least this way you’d be occupied over the weekend.”

“She’ll be back in a few weeks, no?” Jim asked, chewing on his bottom lip, “With Reginald?”

“Yes. Sebastian will be visiting too. Now….about John, do you want him around as well?”

“I don’t mind him visiting but we are not exactly friends. I am not sure how he’d react if he knew whose baby this is.”

He was suddenly pulled closer and two large but soft hands cupped his face, tilting it upwards until he was holding Mycroft’s sincere gaze. “Now listen to me, I shall say this once and won’t repeat it again,” his voice was smooth, polished and caressing, but there was a hint of steel underneath, “This is my baby. There can’t be any other father to Josh besides me. _Thomas Mycroft Chad Holmes, that is the name of the father of Joshua James Holmes_. Are we aligned on this James?”

Jim melted into him and nodded into his chest. He was _too happy_ to say _anything_ at this point.

But a niggling worry kept tugging at the back of his mind. Too much happiness, everything going too smooth, so much love and support, even that tiny bump on the road in the form of a damaged placenta had been ironed out and the baby was safe again, Jim was not sure if this was a dream or really happening. Too good to be true! Was he jinxing it by acknowledging it too often in his head? Had he really atoned for the sins of his past? Sometimes, when he stood before the mirror, he didn’t even recognize himself anymore. The dark myriad truths from his past didn’t haunt him so much and the signs and clues of them had virtually disappeared from his face. But a changed life, Mycroft’s love and the baby’s conception couldn’t really _erase_ his past, could it? _What if it came back to bite him? What if it bit the baby?_

“Stop thinking,” he felt a light rap on the crown of his head, followed by the sound of a suppressed chuckle from his older partner.

“Can’t.”

“Can I distract you?”

_“Really? Can we?”_

“Yes, safe again. A few months ago you checked with Stella. This time I did! She has given the green-signal. We will be careful and I will be _gentle_.”

***

Jim had to admit, sex during pregnancy was _amazing_.

“Please, please, make me cum,” he begged, pushing back on Mycroft’s thick length.

He was more sensitive, more receptive towards touched and intrusion, his orgasms were more intense and he felt a greater sense of satisfaction in the aftermath. But more than anything else, he liked the way Mycroft knew how to treat him in his current condition, with a mixture of delicateness and tenderness but a healthy dose of passion thrown in. Mycroft was less experimental or vigorous as compared to Sherlock but that could be due to the fact that the elder Holmes sibling hadn’t got a chance to fuck a non-pregnant Jim yet.

“Easy does it,” Mycroft stopped Jim from moving.

“Sorry but I….uh…..”

“Want me to touch you?”

“Yesss!”

Mycroft started tugging and pulling at Jim’s cock with long, languid strokes and Jim whined with frustration. “But this is….uhnnn,” he didn’t know whether to surge forward into the light fist or push back on the slowly moving cock. He settled on rotating his hips to feel Mycroft’s phallus in every nook and corner of his arse, changing the angle until he felt the small bundle of nerves nudged. A string of moans and cursed followed, then a sharp gasp came from Mycroft. “You’re getting so tight,” the older man’s voice was strained and Jim turned his head for a sweet kiss. He saw Mycroft’s face was pinched with the need to cum and realized his self-control was at an all-time low. He squeezed his arse deliberately and pushed back again.

Mycroft hissed and cursed, sounds and words that Jim filed away in his mind. There were so many things Mycroft did while they had sex, like cursing or being loud or whiny, which the former mastermind couldn’t have ever imagined the elder Holmes doing.

“Oh damn….yeaah, I’m going to cum.”

Mycroft’s voice was filled with desperation as he tried to curb his need to shoot, but he gave up when every single fiber of his body burned with the upcoming climax and the release threatened so bad he could barely stem the flow of semen right through his cock. He let himself fall into that tidal wave, letting it sweep over him as he sped up and ploughed into Jim, intent on making him cum at the same time.

“MIKEY!”

Jim howled as he came, just a second before Mycroft shot his load with a groan of ‘James’ and ‘I love you’.

Jim registered the three words only a minute later, when the aftershocks had worn off and he was again in a position to think and talk. “Mikey,” he asked, voice still a little breathless from the after-effects of his orgasm, “Did you just _say that_?”

“Yeah. I had been feeling so for a while. Couldn’t summon enough courage to _say it aloud_.”

Big doe-like caramel brown eyes looked at him as Jim turned in his arms, “You really love me? I thought it was more about the baby.”

“Initially it was but now it’s like ‘ _you_ and the baby’….wait a sec,” Mycroft abruptly pried off his arms and got out of bed. Jim half sat up as Mycroft covered him up and put on a robe to conceal his nakedness. Seeing the question in Jim’s eyes he whispered, reaching for his gun and a pair of binoculars, “Someone has been _watching us_. I could _feel_ their eyes on us.”


	12. The Prodigal Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah, I forgot, you are a creep who perches at the window of a house across the street and observes his elder brother’s bedroom proclivities.”

Sherlock had decided to meet Mycroft first as he snuck into London in disguise, under a fake passport. His work was over and he was ready to return but for some reason Mycroft had insisted he wait two more months and enjoy a holiday in Canada or in Mexico before he returned to his hometown and country.

Sherlock would have abided by that, though he wasn’t really keen to holiday somewhere and idle his time away there, had it not been for the Jim issue. He wanted to know where Jim was.

Sebastian had seemed like he would cooperate, but at the last moment the man had balked and gone back on his words, saying Jim had left the place he was staying in and not given Seb a forwarding address. This had disappointed Sherlock but also given him a surge of determination to find out Jim’s location at all costs. Various questions had crowded his head for a while, like whether Jim had decided to carry the baby full term or had terminated the pregnancy, as Sherlock had so bluntly suggested to him. Not that he had changed his mind about Jim and the baby, he was not really ready for a family life or kids, nor was he keen to have Jim in his life for some specific reasons he had figured out a few months earlier, but at least he wanted to support the omega at the time of birth and the child later, if needed.

_Then it had struck him that Mycroft could help him here._

He had decided not to tell Mycroft about his plans or give him a hint that he was going to drop by, so the only option was to spring a surprise on his elder brother by showing up out of the blue. He did dread the conversation that would follow, especially the fact that Jim was his baby mummy, but he knew he wouldn’t get any help from the powerful man unless he came clean to him on these matters.

A face to face conversation would be easier than one done over WhatsApp, Skype or phone. _Hopefully_.

He was there, at Mycroft’s Belgravia residence, ready to pop in, when he noticed his mummy leaving it. A bit alarmed, he had shrunk back in the shadows and waited for her car to disappear around the corner. But this sighting had raised some pertinent questions in his mind.

_What was mummy doing here_? She always stayed at the Hyde Park residence or the flat in South Kensington, both owned by Mycroft, whenever she visited London. Or she stayed at the townhouse she owned in Chelsea. Why this one? Wasn’t this Mycroft’s official residence, one given to him by the government? Mycroft never really entertained family or friends here.

The ever observant young detective had also noticed a strange object in his mummy’s hands. It was a large packet with the picture of an inflatable pool on it. That was the sort of pool small kids used during bath time. As far as he could remember, there was no such small kid in their family, friends or social circle.

He could have marched in but his plans were once again thwarted when Mycroft’s trusted housekeeper, the formidable Mrs. Devon, stepped out with his chauffeur Tim, an employee of Mi6 unit, handing him a list and giving him instructions. Once again Sherlock furrowed his brows, since when had his dearest elder brother start letting his official aides assist with personal errands?

_Unless the errand was such that it couldn’t be given to just about anyone?!_

That side of him which was always on high alert and in a _deduce-everything mode_ won over the other side, which _longed_ to go and speak to Mycroft about Jim. If he wished for support from his difficult and standoffish brother, if he wanted the mighty and intelligent elder sibling to understand him and see things from his point of view, then he had to be ready with some information that he could use. He needed to know the space Mycroft trod on nowadays and if there were any skeletons in his cupboard. It would not only help his own cause but also act as insurance against anything he said or did. He also had to wait until his mummy was away, until she was out of that house or London. So, _following Tim and gathering data_ were the first priorities for now.

Sherlock got on the motorcycle he had rented and followed the car Tim drove. Interestingly it was not Mycroft’s official vehicle, the black limo, but one of his personal rides. An Audi A6. Again Sherlock was intrigued. Mycroft had a purple Bentley, a silver Rolls Royce Phantom and a red Ferrari Testarossa. This Audi A6 was the fourth and the most humble ride. Clearly he was keeping things very subtle, under the radar, sort of hiding in plain sight.

Tim maneuvered through the traffic and parked in a lane which was barely wide enough to squeeze in two vehicles. Then he walked two blocks and stopped at a clinic, at which point Sherlock’s eyes widened.

_A fertility, childcare and maternity clinic._

Soon the aide came out with some reports and then headed for a store. Sherlock’s breath hitched when he saw what it was. 

_A huge store for newborns and infants and toddlers, up to three years. It was aptly called Precious Preschoolers._

So the baby wasn’t part of a social or filial circle. The baby was part of the Holmes family.

_Mycroft was going to be a father._

He saw his beaming mother emerge from the store and hand over some items to Tim. Eugenia had a different ride and she took that, while Tim headed back to the Belgravia mansion. In the meantime, as the packages and boxes were being transferred from Eugenia’s arms to Tim, Sherlock had managed to do some lip reading. He was particularly exhilarated by one of the sentences his mummy just uttered. ‘Leaving this Friday Tim, but tonight I won’t be back home. I’ll spend some time with my friend Holly and her husband.’

Sherlock knew this was his chance.

***

_Nobody wants to know their brother’s sex life_ , be it an older one or the younger one. Sherlock realized his mammoth mistake the moment he spied through the open window on the third level of his brother’s glamorous and sprawling Belgravia property, and saw him in an affectionate and passionate clinch with someone that seemed to be his partner. It had taken Sherlock mere minutes to pick the lock, beat the security system and infiltrate the house across the street from his brother’s and position himself strategically behind some heavy drapes. He even had his binoculars, but due to the presence of a couple of leafy trees, he couldn’t see clearly into the faces of the two men in that room.

Sherlock looked away from time to time, uncomfortable. _Nobody wants to be a witness to their brother’s sex life._

But he needed more data, he needed to know what was going on, he needed to identify the man Mycroft was living with, so he still kept watching as the two men undressed, kissed, groped and cuddled and then Mycroft gently lowered his partner on the bed. He could see the smaller man was slender and a brunette, but other than that Mycroft’s larger frame and those damned branches and leaves obscured his view and prevented him from positively identifying that said partner. But he could see the partner was male and possibly pregnant. The lower parts of their bodies wasn’t visible from Sherlock’s position but the way Mycroft handled the smaller guy told the tale.

Thankfully the actual act of sex wasn’t visible to that extent and Sherlock felt secretly pleased about it. _Nobody wants graphic details of their brother’s sex life._

At the end, as he figured out that the two men might have fallen asleep or were plain cuddling after sex (seriously, Mycroft could do mundane things like cuddle!!!), he decided enough was enough and chose to move out of that house.

He was barely at the next corner when he was surrounded by six men, all armed, all trained, all of whom knew exactly where he had just been.

“Search him,” came the barked order.

He was pushed against the bonnet of a car and searched. Then someone tried to tug at his disguise when the leader of the group, who clearly had _more_ information than the rest, stopped his men. “No, not here. Let’s take him inside.”

“What exactly is my _crime_?” Sherlock couldn’t stop the sarcasm from rolling off his words.

“That is not for us to decide, we are merely following orders,” came the terse response as he was subtly half-dragged and half-led to the same house he had been spying upon. “So they all say,” Sherlock murmured as he was not so subtly pushed through the door.

There was something different about the house, something had changed, and the great detective noticed that instantly. But before he could put his brain to work, Anthea appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, which was down the hallway and three steps up from the foyer. She looked like a cool cat in her business attire and sharp makeup, accentuating the eyes and lips. Sherlock’s lips quirked into a smirk. _Once upon a time John tried to date this thing, oh yeah, I need to see John right after I have had my say with my brother dearest_. “Hello Sherlock, nice disguise I see you got here,” Mycroft’s faithful assistant cooed in a vicious tone, “Not enough to fool some of us though. If you wanted to remain undetected and unrecognized, you should have just stayed in North America.”

“Commenting on my disguise is cute, especially when nothing can mask or disguise your pathetic life,” Sherlock hissed, “Don’t you ever get tired of the 24/7 lackey’s job with that brother of mine?”

“On the contrary, I feel stimulated by it,” she returned, unaffected.

_Former agents, insensitive and indifferent bastards_. Sherlock snorted, “Even though my brother is gay, an alpha who’s least likely to choose another alpha and who happens to….have a lover nowadays. Still dreaming of him turning straight for you?”

He was trying to provoke a reaction out of her, which was the exact same job she was trying to do with him. “A lover?” She asked, completely ignoring the comment about her fascination for Mycroft, “ _The boss has a lover”_ she repeated as if she was merely saying what he had said and not confirming or denying it, “….oh, so how are _you_ so sure about it? Ah, I forgot, you are a creep who perches at the window of a house across the street and observes his elder brother’s bedroom proclivities.”

He was fed up by then with her measured and ambiguous responses. Years with Mycroft had made this woman, already clever in her own right, quite a force to reckon with. She wasn’t giving anything away. He had to meet Mycroft and hope for what he originally intended to be given to him, assistance and information to find Jim Moriarty. No point wasting time with Anthea. “ _That isn’t up for discussion_. It’s Mycroft’s business and mine, or are you the elder sister of his pretty little lover and wish to wrap your angel wings around him?”

She suddenly seemed in a hurry to end this conversation. Instead of leaning on the balustrade and analyzing Sherlock from head to toe, she straightened up and started walking towards Mycroft’s office room, heels clattering on the immaculate and spotless marble floor.

“He’s in here, c’mon now,” she clicked her fingers, unable to resist taking a final pot shot at him, “And take that beard and wig and eyebrows off. You look and smell like a _haystack_.”

***

_15 mins earlier_

“Don’t go,” Jim was half asleep and flushed with the afterglow of his orgasm, still a thin hand reached up as Mycroft leaned down to kiss his cheek, grabbing the Englishman’s wrist and tugging hard, “Stay.” His face was in repose, his eyes closed but the ghost of a sneaky grin on his lips suggested a wicked reason to keep Mycroft in bed. The Mi6 chief was tempted indeed for a moment but he remembered exactly why he had dressed in a hurry and was rushing downstairs and had to disappoint his ‘cherub’. That was the nickname he had given Jim, because of the latter’s boyish smile and youthful looks, and Jim somehow enjoyed it.

“Sorry cherub. But _duty calls_. You take a nap. I’ll be back before you’ve woken, I promise you that. Now give me a kiss.”

The kiss did linger a while and deepen, not without its side-effects. Mycroft felt a rise between his legs again and quickly drew back. There was no way he would be facing Sherlock with a bulge between his legs and his pulse racing hard. Trying not to give away exactly how worried he was, he quickly stepped out of the room and took his phone out of his pocket. To his utmost relief, he saw a text from Anthea in the coded language they used. ‘Globe-trotter familiar with the map but not the shop it came from, so far seems like a visit for some favors’. Mycroft took a few deep breaths, rolled his shoulders and strode down the staircase in his usual graceful style.

He entered the waiting room connected to his office room, crossed the sofas and the large coffee table in the visitor’s area and the desk of his secretary Martin, then opened the heavy door to the inner sanctum, as he liked to call it.

His good mood disappeared at the sight that greeted him there. 

Sherlock was sitting on his table and smoking, dispensing the ashes in his pen stand and scattering more of the same ashes over his laptop and files. Boots with dried mud on them were right on the seat of his ergonomic desk chair. Mycroft suppressed a strong urge to smack him for his insolent, provocative behavior. _Thank God he doesn’t know about James. It seems he is here only to stir the pot and rustle up some trouble, the cheeky annoying thing that he is. If he knew about James he would have done something reckless, unpardonable_.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he said in a tone filled with disgust.

“ _My_ croft,” Sherlock snuffled and stubbed out the cigarette on Mycroft’s mouse pad, “Or is it _Sir_ Mycroft Holmes, first of his name, mighty powermonger _etc etc etc_?”

“I am not expecting you to call me anything other than what we have always called each other, by our Christian names and occasionally ‘brother mine’,” Mycroft approached the desk and pushed Sherlock off it, earning a muted curse from the younger Holmes, “Even for you, this is really low. You were watching me during an intimate moment with my partner, which I have every right to indulge in within the privacy of my bedroom?!?”

“Says the one who installed cameras in my flat to keep a tab on me?” Sherlock scoffed. He opened a drawer, took out chocolates and promptly unwrapped a praline and devoured it.

“So it was an act of revenge, or was it an act of ‘gathering data’,” Mycroft spoke in an all-knowing manner, looking down his nose at Sherlock who was now sitting on the rug and munching noisily. He tried to reach the water and nearly toppled the jug before Mycroft hurriedly gave it to him with a glass. “I see you are back, deliberately disobeying my orders and then sneaking up to me and watching…..I can safely determine _one purpose_ behind this most despicable act, brother mine. You want something from me and since you believe I’d say a ‘no’, you were trying to find out something you could leverage on, to compel me into saying ‘yes’.”

Sherlock grinned, “Sounds like a _good plan_ to me.”

Mycroft raised his brows, “Sounds like _blackmail_ to me.”

“You know brother mine,” Sherlock stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the desk, a sly smile on his lips, “When people ask me what I do, I always say ‘Whatever it takes’. Yeah, I want your help and it’s the easiest way for you to get rid of me, just agree and send me off. Then off I shall go.”

“And here I thought you had come to thank me,” Mycroft handed Sherlock some tissues, “Clean your face and wash your hands. You look filthy. Have you eaten something?”

“What for?” Sherlock ignored the second part of his brother’s words, “Thank you for what?”

“The rescue from Serbia. I had to learn the language, tolerate the presence and endless chatter of people around me, don a disguise, do legwork, travel and all that, it was a big risk. A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

“You didn’t come to my rescue until very late, until they had nearly squeezed every ounce of blood and sweat from me.”

“If you have overlooked one vital point, it does take some time to infiltrate their ranks and position yourself as an insider. Now, enough small talk, I am sure I have better things to do. What is it that you want from me?”

“Jim Moriarty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock continues to get demonized. Sorry, this story is now writing itself and I can't change the characters!


	13. A Storm Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would it bring along, rain or hail or a sink-hole, he wasn’t sure yet.

Mycroft had heard heart stopping statements like ‘We are surrounded, there is no way out’ and ‘They planted a bomb at Victoria Station’ and ‘Sherlock has been shot in a drug den after a brawl’ but never before had he felt as wrecked as he did when he heard those two words from his younger brother. It was like a nightmare come true.

‘Jim Moriarty’.

Several times Mycroft had imagined Sherlock coming back to claim his lover and child, many times he had even ‘seen’ Jim willing to go back to him and the ‘all is forgiven’ aspect coming into play, but when it really happened he realized he was not prepared for this. All those counter statements he had rehearsed in private, telling Sherlock Jim belonged to him now and he was not going to let anyone play the former criminal like a ping-pong ball between two brothers, died on his lips as his brother made the purpose of his visit clear. Yes, he had indeed come back for Jim. “What about him now?” Mycroft asked as he tried to mask his inner storm with an added dose of nonchalance.

“He is alive. But I think you might have guessed.”

“May I ask why I wasn’t privy to this information?”

“It was _not important_.”

“Not important? I don’t think so! If I _do accept_ this answer…..Then explain why have you come back asking for him?”

“Not him. I want your help in _getting_ to him.”

“You lost him, what really happened? If you want my help then I want the whole story.”

Mycroft had expected Sherlock to sulk, sneer or snap. What he hadn’t expected was the sadness he saw on his brother’s face and the way Sherlock’s entire frame slumped before his eyes. Gone was the arrogance and confidence, the brashness and cocky attitude. He looked like a man who was regretting a few things and carried a huge load on his shoulders. “It is a long story really. Just know this, I think he might be….no, he can’t be, not anymore.”

Mycroft’s heart was beating so loudly he was afraid his brother would hear it and suspect something. He walked away a bit and put some distance between them. “He is what? Come on, what’s the real story? You didn’t help him fake his death just so he’d walk away from you.”

“He and I were in love,” Sherlock mumbled and Mycroft turned away from him to hide the horror on his own face _. Oh God!_

“What next?”

“We spent a year and half together, traveling through Tibet, India, Thailand, Hongkong, China, Australia, Dubai, Egypt, Algeria, South Africa, then Russia and rest of Europe. He helped me take down the web and I kept an eye on him, to ensure he didn’t spin a new one and he was as clean as he claimed to be. We-we shared rooms, beds, we even did a bit of drinking together and touristy stuff and then…..”

Mycroft wanted to prompt him and ask him to get to the part already where they had separated, because _really_ he hadn’t heard Sherlock’s version yet, only Jim’s, but he kept his mouth shut for fear that his observant and intelligent brother would understand something was _off_ with him. Sherlock was struggling with words, he could see that, and it shocked Mycroft to find his normally motormouth sibling so tongue tied. “I-I was….see, we were very similar, we were the same people with the same qualities, just that we used it for differing purposes. He was ill, he had some mental health problems and after getting proper help he seemed quite normal, so I thought, so I hoped that….. maybe he and I, we both…..we could…..”

“That you and he might be _together_?” Mycroft couldn’t hold himself back.

“Well, yeah.”

“Did he agree.”

“He said he loved me from the moment I got involved with him at a deeper, personal level, and helped him get away from the world of crime that he despised as much as he despised himself for not having enough controls over his mind and thoughts.”

“And?”

“He is…well, you might be surprised to know, _he is an omega_.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, “I always thought he was too small and slender to be an alpha. Also, he was far too pretty for that.” He bit his tongue as he spoke the last sentence. _Fuck, that had just randomly got out_. He quickly eyed Sherlock to see if he had picked up on this but the detective was a bit lost in his thoughts and said nothing. Mycroft cleared his throat and urged him to continue.

“Yeah, yes, where was I….yes, he is an omega and he conceived,” Sherlock added, looking up and at Mycroft directly now, “He said he was going to have my baby, my baby, our baby….and I just panicked. I have to confess, fatherhood felt rather heavily on my shoulders and I crumbled. At the same time I didn’t want to risk his life by keeping him on that mission, especially in that condition, so I told him to go back to London or anywhere else he felt comfortable. He had his new identity, he had a boatload of money, he is an exceptional man and could rebuild his life.”

“What was his reaction?” Mycroft asked curiously. By now he could see that Jim hadn’t lied to him at all. The two stories were more or less matching.

“Slapped me, scratched me, left me with a bleeding lip and a black eye.”

Mycroft could not help the chuckle that escaped him then. _He could see them like that_. Spitfire Jim chasing Sherlock and hitting out at him as his brother ducked the blows and tried to escape. He couldn’t help but think for a moment that they did fit in very well with each other. No, he chided himself the next moment, no and absolutely no, those two were too similar to last. Jim needed someone mature and Sherlock needed someone calmer and more in control of his actions. “Sherlock, before you say anything else,” he spoke in a manner that roared ‘non-negotiable’, “If you guys parted after a fight or disagreement, then why did you wait so long to patch it up? If he has moved on, then shouldn’t you leave him be? I thought you wanted to be with John when you returned to London and resumed your earlier life here!”

“I waited because I didn’t want him harmed during my mission, didn’t want him anywhere near me, especially if he was still pregnant. Now I am done with this, I want to support him in case my child is still on the way.”

Mycroft felt conflicting emotions work up within him. He could partially understand Sherlock’s reasons behind his abandonment of Jim. The poor guy had never been in relationships before and had made a beginner’s mistake. He could be forgiven for that. But he also agreed that he, Mycroft, was not the one to forgive. It had to be Jim. And the matter needed to be handled very _delicately_ , considering Jim’s condition.

“Go to John,” he said solemnly, “Take a couple of days to rest, recuperate, get your thoughts together. Then we shall see what we can do. I heard you loud and clear. Now, I just want to know something. If Jim has carried the baby, you’d be okay to support them as the father?”

“Yes.”

“What if he has not kept it?”

“I’d still want to apologize.”

“But you will be with John.”

Sherlock sighed and got up from the floor, straightening his back. “I don’t know that _yet_.”

Mycroft nodded, “Understood. Then what I just said is the best step to take at this moment. Cool off a bit, sort the matters out in your head, come to a decision. If you wish to be with John, then stick to that decision. Otherwise you’ll end up alienating him as well. I suppose after the meeting I had with the doctor he will forgive you for lying to him about your ‘death’ but you can’t expect the man to forgive you endlessly for multiple mistakes.”

To his relief, Sherlock seemed convinced by that logic and quietly left.

***

“Josh is very eager to meet you, it seems.”

Jim was sitting on the bed and reading a book, next to Mycroft who was working on his laptop. The petite Irishman groaned and grabbed Mycroft’s left hand, placing it over his expanded stomach. Almost immediately Mycroft felt the kicks from the baby inside and he was really active! “Poor you,” he said with a smile and ruffled Jim’s soft hairs, “This must hurt quite a bit. Look at this now, your feet have swollen up again. Let me put some pillows underneath it to elevate it slightly. There, does it feel better now?”

“Yes much better,” Jim said, leaning against Mycroft and putting his head disarmingly on the older man’s broad shoulder, “I guess I am not used to being so ungainly and clumsy. I am constantly bumping into things and people. Mrs. Devon fell back against the door when I gave her an unintentional shoulder-shove!” He kissed Mycroft’s chin and whispered, “Isn’t it funny how you’re working on top secret Mi5 plans and I am sitting right here beside you. A few years ago this would have been a _nightmare come true_ for you, with Jim Moriarty getting first hand information into top secret material. Now you act like a typical husband, sitting there and working and just ignoring my presence.”

“Not ignoring you hon,” Mycroft said, turning his head to kiss Jim, “Trying to finish something quickly so I am all yours. If I keep looking at you I’ll be distracted so badly I’ll end up killing people with a wrong instruction. As you know, in my line of work if there are mistakes, people could die.”

“I still don’t see what’s the big deal about that.”

“James!!!”

“Sorry,” Jim stuck his tongue out, “Just kidding.”

Mycroft lost his composure, shoved the laptop aside and grabbed the back of Jim’s head, kissing him gentle and deep. By the time they parted, both were aroused, flushed in the face and panting really hard. “See,” Mycroft looked down at his pajama bottoms, “That’s why I don’t want to even look at you while I am working. I should go to the home office and finish this right away, huh?”

“A big part of you disagrees,” Jim grabbed the older man’s turgid phallus over his clothes and squeezed, eliciting a moan from Mycroft, “How about we do a quickie and then you finish the work right here in this room, on this bed?”

Mycroft nodded agreeably, “Yeah. Sounds good to me. I am so close already that I don’t think I shall last too long anyways.”

“That’s why they say God has given us a brain and a penis and enough blood to run only one of them at a time,” Jim giggled and pushed down his boxer shorts.

A few minutes later Jim was on his back with his legs spread, Mycroft lying on his side and at a right angle from him, their groins joined and Jim’s legs lying over the older man’s, as the Englishman made soft and quick thrusts into him. Jim’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his hands clutching at his pillow as pure pleasure tore through him with every thrust he received. In that angle Mycroft managed to nudge his prostate with pinpoint precision, occasionally rotating his hips to let him feel the ‘intrusion’ even more. It was intimate and lovely and when Mycroft touched Jim right there, rubbing his thumb over the leaking head of the erection, the Irishman almost wept with joy!

Realization blossomed in his heart and he smiled. Yes, this was the man he loved. So far Mycroft was a man he respected, depended on, felt grateful towards for saving his life and that of his child, for giving him the respect of an acknowledged omega mother of his kid, but love had not been there at first. Sherlock’s betrayal and careless abandonment had hit him so bad that he hadn’t even thought of himself as capable of ever being in love again. He was just not going to make himself so vulnerable, so open to hurt.

But slowly the elder Holmes had _wormed his way into his heart_ and today Jim felt that the child growing inside him was indeed Mycroft’s. Yes, unborn Joshua was truly Mycroft’s baby and Jim was _Mycroft’s partner_. He had fallen in love again, despite the bitterness and warnings he carried from the past, from his broken relationship with Sherlock.

“Mike!” He rasped as the slow build began in his balls. It spread to his spine, then shot towards his brain. His toes curled and he felt a warm blush rise to his face and neck.

“God, James,” Mycroft’s words were strained, his thrusts were getting erratic.

“Yeah, cum inside me!”

“You cum for me first, baby!”

Jim grabbed Mycroft’s wrist and urged him to stroke him harder. Mycroft dutifully obeyed and the moment he did so, Jim shrieked out and stiffened all over. Sweet pleasure and intense sensations shot through his body and he found himself exploding all over his chest, Mycroft’s fingers and a shot that went straight to his cheek. As the outpour of seed shrunk to a trickle and his loud moans tapered off into whimpers, Mycroft came.

He roared out Jim’s name and emptied his balls inside the younger man, a few exclaimed words of sexual ecstasy escaping his open mouth before he ended it with a rather breathy ‘I love you’!

To his surprise and joy, he heard the familiar Irish lilt saying exactly what he wanted to hear.

_“I love you too Mikey!”_

An hour later Mycroft stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. He was naked, his pale skin mostly unlined and unmarked barring a few freckles. But there were a few temporary and telltale marks on his body that bore the proofs of passionate lovemaking. _Toothmarks on his bicep. A hickey at the base of his neck. A scratch on his chest._ All given by Jim as they made love! He wondered just how wild and passionate Jim would be once the baby was out and he was less hindered by his rather swollen belly. How much more vigorous and energetic their lovemaking would be and how many positions they would try. He found himself dreaming of the day when he would fold, spread and tie Jim up, go caveman on him as he would love to!

Unless…..

……Sherlock!

Mycroft quickly wore his pajama bottoms and pulled on a T shirt. Then he escaped to the balcony for a smoke, but not before he had kissed a soundly sleeping Jim. He briefly touched the stomach and immediately the baby kicked out at him. “ _No_ ,” he whispered as he stroked the stretched skin of Jim’s belly, “Don’t wake him up. Let him sleep. He needs it. We will meet soon Josh, just be patient for one more month okay?”

As if on cue, _the baby stopped kicking_. “I love you Josh,” Mycroft cooed, “Your daddy loves _you_ , and _daddy loves papa_.”

Jim made a soft sound and placed his arm protectively over his bump. Mycroft smiled and pulled the covers over his lover before turning out the incandescent bedside light. Somewhere downstairs in the house, he heard a cuckoo clock declare it was midnight!

But sleep seemed a long way off and he didn’t want t toss and turn and disturb Jim, so he picked up his secret stash of smokes and headed for the balcony. He spent the better part of an hour out there, doing something he had given up for the most part. He smoked one cigarette after the other.

He had stopped smoking around Jim at first, then in the bedroom and finally in their house. Slowly he had stopped smoking completely because Jim just didn’t like the aftertaste of cigarettes in his mouth. But tonight his demons were whipping him from all sides and he needed nicotine to stay sane. Something told him a storm was brewing in the distance and would hit them very soon!

_What would it bring along, rain or hail or a sink-hole, he wasn’t sure yet._


	14. The Manipulative Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reconnects with John and old Hudders
> 
> Mycroft hopes Sherlock won't want to raise the kid due to lifestyle choices

Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Minutes ticked by, turning into an hour. Mycroft just kept sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the sleeping omega. His hand sneaked under the covers and touched the belly again.

He would never stop getting amazed at how life was being created there. Neither would he stop marveling at how Jim had changed over the years. The Irishman had been right. Nowadays Mycroft worked on top secret projects with Jim literally seated on his lap or beside him and never did he feel he was risking it or would be betrayed. Not only had he fallen in love with Jim and Josh, he also trusted the former criminal.

For the first time in his life Mycroft was petrified to lose someone. Sherlock’s loss would break his heart surely but losing Jim or the baby would kill him for good. A part of him berated himself for going against his own principles and falling in love and making someone else the center of his universe, but another part came up with a simple retort. ‘You also felt great joy, hope and cheer, which neither your work nor your achievements had given you before’. Mycroft finally reconciled things in his head as he came back to bed quietly. He had taken a risk by falling for Jim and it had all been worth it. _It is a risk I’ll take a thousand times again, even if it doesn’t conclude the way I want it to_.

The moment he climbed into bed and got under the covers, Jim rolled over, mumbled sleepily and moved towards him, seeking his warmth and embrace. Mycroft gladly offered both and Jim settled against him, his head on the older man’s chest.

“Go back to sleep,” Mycroft murmured as dark eyes opened sleepily and looked at him for a moment, “I am right here my love. I….I will always be there for you!”

Jim smiled and closed his eyes again.

Mycroft closed his own eyes too. He was now relaxed enough to get some shuteye.

Until he heard the soft voice whisper, ‘I know’.

***

“Ohhhhhhh!!!”

“Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Hudson…what happened? SHERLOCK!!!”

John couldn’t have been more shocked had he seen a gargoyle hanging upside down from the ceiling. Sherlock was lying on the couch in the living room of his new apartment, looking like death warmed over, and while he was at least aware the man was alive, poor Mrs. Hudson had nearly swooned as she saw a dead man walking/lying there. She recovered soon though and ran to Sherlock, taking him in her arms and kissing him several times on the forehead and crown, like a mother would do to her lost son who had just returned home. “Oh thank Heavens,” she said over and over again, “ _You’re real_ , it’s not imagined stuff, I am not hallucinating, oh my God I am so happy…..oh Sherlock, we really thought we had lost you.”

To be fair to Sherlock, John noticed that he did return Mrs. Hudson’s affectionate gestures to some extent. He was half expecting him to push away the old lady and make a sarcastic comment but he hugged her back, even if it was awkwardly done, and kept saying ‘It’s all right, I am here now, shhhh, stop crying you old nanny goat…..crying doesn’t suit you much. Yes, yes, I _am alive_.’

The doctor had a good mind to smack Sherlock across the cheek and give him a piece of his mind over the whole act of deception that kept him trapped in grief for twenty long months, but the scene before him was so heartwarming that he just stood there, _tongue tied_. “You look like a truck ran over you and then backed up and hit you again, just in case…..” Mrs. Hudson stepped back and surveyed the sleuth properly, running her hands over his face, “You’re so thin and spindly! You need to eat, you need some tea, you need a bath and a change of fresh clothes. How does some pasta and tea sound, I also have some apple pies. I have still kept your clothes, most of them, let me get something for you…..John, just _stay_ here with him while I organize everything, will you?”

“Of course Mrs. Hudson,” John deadpanned.

As soon as Mrs. Hudson had left the room, Sherlock grabbed two cushions and held them before his own face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” John demanded angrily, “Quit the drama!”

“No drama. Are you not going to hit me?”

“I have every intention to. But seeing you the way you are…..”

“What?”

“Sherlock what is wrong?”

John had loved and _still_ loved Sherlock with all his heart. There was nothing Sherlock could do which would antagonize John so much that he stopped loving him or caring about him. So, just like anyone who deeply felt for another person and always put them first, John noticed Sherlock’s distress much before he was aware of his own. “Something has gone wrong, isn’t it?” He asked again.

“Jawn….”

In a flash they were in each other’s arms and Sherlock felt a sudden blessedness as those familiar arms and scent greeted him just like they used to, a couple of years ago. It felt as if nothing had really changed and they were the same Baker Street boys who lived, worked and slept together until…..

_Until Jim had come along and Sherlock had strayed_.

Feeling guilty, frustrated and annoyed with himself and the situation he had put himself in, Sherlock found his usual haughty and supercilious approach missing. He felt humbled by the reception he had got from these two and that doubled his guilt. He knew he’d take the same step in a heartbeat if that meant fighting crime and getting the world rid of criminals, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel regretful of his past actions. He could clearly see he had made these two people, those he really cared about, suffer badly. If anything, he owed them a huge apology for being a jerk. “I-I need some time t-to…..” Sherlock stammered, nose pressed to John’s chest as he sat back down on the couch heavily while John stood before him, still holding him in his arms. The good doctor nodded, ruffling Sherlock’s hairs and just offering his presence as support, while Sherlock clearly started to struggle with words and _something else_.

“All right. Eat, drink something, shower, change and then we talk. You smell funny, like someone dipped you in resin earlier.”

“I had a disguise on.”

“Hmmm, why am I not surprised.”

“Am I _forgiven_?”

“Of course not. Don’t take my calm behavior as a sign of forgiveness nor should you think you’re out of the woods yet.”

“I did everything to _protect_ you both,” Sherlock swallowed heavily as he finally drew back and collapsed back against the backrest of the couch.

“I know, I have been told that,” John said, taking a seat in a single seater couch across the room, “Mycroft explained everything to me. Thank him for that Sherlock, else by now you’d have been sporting a bloody nose and a black eye by now, maybe even a bruised cheekbone.”

***

“Sir, if Sherlock is back then what happens to Jim? I mean _James….and you_?”

She was the only person who knew the whole truth. Not that she ever admitted she did, but her boss knew. At the same time Mycroft had never told her explicitly that Sherlock was Jim’s baby-daddy. She had made an educated guess on that, as well as Mycroft’s growing fondness for Jim.

“I am sure my brother’s lifestyle choices and profession won’t really allow much time or flexibility to bring up a child,” Mycroft pretended to be relaxed and comfortable while in reality he was anything but that, “James also knows he can get a stable life with me, an inclusive family where the baby will be safe and its needs prioritized over all else. I am positive James would also like to do some quality work once the baby has grown up a bit, put that genius to good use this time around, and I can help there.”

“These are _your_ reasons sir,” she said gently, “Do you know if they are _his_ reasons as well? James’ reasons I mean!”

Mycroft dreaded answering that. He knew he had concealed some facts from Jim, namely Sherlock enquiring about him with Sebastian and doing so repeatedly, or the way he had pleaded with Mycroft to help them reconnect. Whatever reasons he had in his head about Jim agreeing to be with him, choosing him over Sherlock, were exactly what Anthea has just mentioned. They were _his reasons_ , not actual ones Jim had ever mentioned. And if Jim knew about Sherlock’s willingness to reconnect with him and support the child, would he even consider those reasons anymore? The worry and uncertainty showed on his face because Anthea quickly switched topics.

“There are some suggestions for James, once he decides to work of course.”

Relieved that the were talking about something else, Mycroft scrunched up his nose and looked at her through squinted eyes, his judicious look. “Go on.”

“Take over the research and development wing of the Mi5 and Mi6, the lab that supports both homeland security and international intelligence. That is one choice.”

“Hmmm, sounds good. What else?”

“The second choice is for him to start his independent project, crack some of the toughest mathematical problems and codes, of course we need to be aware and he has to keep you looped in on all his milestones.”

“Yes, yes, makes sense. What might be the third one?”

“Include him in the international panel of mathematicians and professors, so he can visit all the Ivy League schools and take special classes, oversee the theories submitted by the best thesis students, write books, we can get him a book contract with the best publishers. Maybe he will be a Nobel Laureate in the near future.”

  
“No,” Mycroft said before he could even think, which was again very out of character for him, “That will also involve lots of travel and _Josh and I_ will be alone at home……” He stopped, painfully aware of his faux pas.

“Oh Mr. Holmes,” Anthea said with a shake of her head, “You have gone too far down the path already. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” Mycroft went from unsure lover to super-sure Mi6 chief, “Now, don’t you have anything better to do this morning? Where is the surveillance report on that sleeper cell?”

***

Mrs. Hudson had left about half hour ago and since then, a full-fledged battle had ensued in John Watson’s flat. Not only had Sherlock spoken his heart out and admitted to his affair with Jim, he had also babbled his heart’s innermost desire to take up the responsibilities that were truly his and not shirk them any longer. John had listened quietly, eerily quietly, until Sherlock had finished his side of the story. Then, without warning, John had flown at him and started hitting him out of anger, jealousy, frustration and the utter outrage of knowing he had been cheated on for years.

Then Sherlock had sought refuge in the bathroom, shut the door, barred it with a moveable bathroom cabinet, then crouched down into the tub with a bath stool held before him like a shield. John was on the other side of the door, slamming his fists on it.

“You _arsehole,_ you _cheating, lying, heartless, insufferable prick_ ,” John shouted, his infamous temper, one he usually kept in control but when he let it fly it just went like a meteor shower, “I always knew…..I always knew you were a unique kind of douche bag but at I-I thought at least you had the balls, some honesty…..NO, nothing like that. I had no idea you could be such a….such a-a…..dishonest and no-balls…..lying bag of shit….you son of a son of a….no, I like your mum, why should I curse at her….I bet she would have preferred to kill herself the day she gave birth to a cunt like you…..come out you motherfucker…..come out of there NOW!”

“You are contradicting yourself,” Sherlock called out, “You said you respect mummy and then you called me motherfucker.”

“What? Mother…..never mind! Don’t try to act like a smartass, come out right now or you will be sorry!”

_“No.”_

“You come out or I kick the door in.”

“You have a gun. I am scared…..I don’t want a second hole in the near-about’s of my butt.”

John looked at the gun in his hand and fumed, then calmed down a bit, then shouted, “I don’t have a gun with me.”

“I know you do. When you were pounding on the door I heard the metallic sound….it was in one of your hands. I know that sound…..” The sound of a shot made Sherlock jump and he screamed, “You are lying too. I knew you had a gun and you just denied it.”

“DON’T SHOUT,” John shouted, “Come out here right now. Or I am taking the lock off. I have done this before during our cases and I can do it again. I just need to shoot at this lock and it will be hanging by a hinge in a split second.”

“I will come out as you say but…..Just promise me _you won’t kill me_ ,” Sherlock called out, slowly getting out of the tub and making up a plan in his head, “You’ll forgive me and never, ever, stop loving me.” The moment the words left his throat he heard a growl from John who was so at the end of this tether he was unhesitant to use the gun again, this time with more dreadful consequences. “I am going to count to 10 and after that, I can’t guarantee things won’t get gory,” John warned and began to count loudly. In the meantime Sherlock filled the tub, got the hairdryer out of the drawer, a sly but nervous look on his face and made some splashing noises by swooshing the water over the sides of the tub. Then he got into it, made some quick moves, took a deep breath and struck a horrid pose and expression.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!!!”   
  


“Seven-Eight-Nine……Sherlock, SHERLOCK, _what happened_ ….. _Sherlock?_ ”

John shot the lock off, kicked the door down and slammed his knee into the cabinet. He yelped, pushed it aside impatiently and rushed forward, a howl of anguish leaving his throat. “Sherlock, Sherl, my baby, Lockie, please, what have you done? You shouldn’t have….I didn’t mean to, I was never going to shoot you love….yes, yes, yes, I love you, you gross ignoramus, you elongated idioticus. Now see what you’ve done you fool…...”

As he carefully pushed the dryer away, the device still whirring, and grabbed a limp Sherlock whose face was set in a rictus of pain, the detective sneakily took his gun and emptied the magazine. He remained in John’s arms as the doctor carried him to the bedroom.

As soon as he was lowered on the bed he grabbed John and the two of them kissed. At first John’s response was merely instinctive and natural, the culmination of his long-deprived desire to experience intimacy with Sherlock again. But as the seconds passed and the kiss deepened, John’s desire grew like a wildfire and he climbed on top of the taller man and _took over_ the kiss, controlling it and growling possessively into it as Sherlock whimpered and submitted.

Just as Sherlock spread his legs, panting with lack of arousal and lack of air, John drew back. His face registered a strange kind of horror.

“Jawn….?”   
  


“No Sherl. Sorry I got carried away. First by anger, then by desire. You should go back to Jim.”


	15. The Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will be, will be!

“What? You’re _pushing_ me away?” Sherlock thought a bad joke was being played on him. But his inner voice said ‘You deserve this’. Yes, he felt he indeed deserved rejection from both sides. He had betrayed one of them and then abandoned the other. He was the scum and of course he deserved to be rear ended out of both relationships, if those earlier relationships did exist still……

“Just give me a few moments,” John held his temples, feeling a weird throbbing there as his inner self dueled with doing the right thing and grabbing his man then and there, “This isn’t going to be easy on you….and certainly not on _me_.”

It was a small price to pay for his sins and neglect, the lies and deceit he had heaped upon John and a repentant Sherlock sat up, pressed against John, heart thumping in his chest as he waited for his partner/lover to give him a verdict. He hoped he was not going to be sent to the doghouse or henhouse. _At the same time he was worried about Jim_. The man had recovered from his earlier mental illness but such illnesses sometimes made a reappearance; what if Jim was unwell again and suicidal? What if he had hurt himself or the child? No, he had no idea to even think about the child. His priority should be to check out Jim, _wherever he was_ , and give him the help he needed. John was a good soul, maybe he would even help. Or was he expecting _too much_ from _John_?

After all, there were some limits even for good men, even those as self-sacrificing and kind as John Hamish Watson.

“Sherlock, do you still love him?” John’s voice cut through his reverie.

“I think I will always have a soft corner for him, I’ll always be mesmerized by him, I’d want him safe, happy, protected.”

“That’s not an answer. Or maybe it is. Whatever you say sounds like love to me.”

_This is the moment. If I lie again, John will lose whatever remaining respect he has for me, this time for good. For eternity. Our rapport will be fractured beyond recognition. I need to come clean, I need to speak my mind._

“I do have feelings for him Jawn,” Sherlock held John’s gaze so the good doctor could see he meant every single word, “He and you fulfill two different sides of my life, my persona, my lifestyle. He understands me more than anyone else, he’s the risk taker I adore, he’s evil and in a way cute, he makes me want to let go of all inhibitions and live fully, completely. But then, there is another side of mine that needs to be with you, to be grounded, kinder than I was yesterday, value the things and people who are truly important in my life. With you I feel I am a better man, a complete man, a happy man.”

“I get it,” John said with a joyless chuckle, “You want an open relationship.”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head, “ _Not really_. These two sides will clash badly and I won’t be able to do any justice to either one of you. I didn’t mean this Jawn. I am trying to do the right thing here and for that I need your help. Am I asking too much from you?”

He was quite taken aback by the look on John’s face. It was one of neither anger nor disappointment, nor was it jealousy or spite, it wasn’t irritation or confusion either. It was more like pity, yes it was pity and sympathy for Sherlock and John looked calmer than he had for the past hour. When the detective had stopped wondering what was going on in John’s head, deciding to let the chips fall as they may, the good doctor finally cleared the air. “I feel sorry for you Sherlock. Till a little while ago I was angry, annoyed, devastated by whatever you had said but now that things are a bit clearer to me, I feel just…..sad for you.”

“Sad? Why?”

“Sherlock, since we have come thus far, can I request you to be honest till the end?”

“Yes, sure. Whatever you ask John, I promise I shall give you an honest answer.”

“Jim is a lost case now. _You won’t ever get him back_.”

Sherlock suddenly flared up at that statement. “If you don’t want him in my life you have to just ask and I will _somehow_ ….manage. Yes it will break my heart but I can mend again, I can carry on, because I do love you and want you to be happy. Just….don’t…..okay….how do I put it before you? Please Jawn…..Don’t-don’t tell me something that you don’t know much of.”

“I know much more than you do, at least about Jim’s situation right now,” John said evenly, his brown eyes focused on the disturbed look on Sherlock’s face, “I know this will distress you but Jim has moved on and with your very own brother no less…..” he watched as Sherlock paled visibly, “I am assuming Mycroft didn’t tell you.”

  
“No, I went to ask him….as I told you, _he did not_.”

“Evidently he didn’t,” John snorted, “I guess I can’t blame him for trying to protect his territory. He and Jim have been an item for a while now and I know this will be a lot for you to digest but Jim happens to be bound to him forever, in a certain way. Those two are about to become parents any day now. Jim is heavily pregnant.”

A hoarse sound of distress came out of Sherlock as he stared at John through wide eyes. In all their years as detectives, John had never seen Sherlock as shocked by a revelation as this. He instantly knew something was wrong.

“Pregnant?” Sherlock croaked, “How many months?”

John waved his hand dismissively, “How does that matter really? They have decided to start a family together, so obviously they are serious about this relationship. Now I understand how it feels like to be let down…..or maybe it’s not even one. If you are here, then that relationship wasn’t exclusive either, was it? I may not have been friends with him but I _can’t fault him_ for…”

“How many months?”

It wasn’t so much about the question but the manner in which it was asked which jolted John quite a bit. He had never seen Sherlock this high strung, not even during his high profile cases. He hadn’t seen him this nervous either, not even when he was under severe stress due to a sudden turn of events. Even when the detective had been high as a kite on heroin or cocaine during his days as an addict, he hadn’t seemed this out of character as he was now, _shaking, anxious and totally taut with anticipation._ “I asked you something Jawn, please-please answer me,” the green-eyed man asked in a low, harsh voice, “How many months gone is he? Is it very early stages or is he about to give birth soon. Do you know or not….or do I have to go back to Mycroft’s place and ask?”

“I did say they are about to become parents any day now. Yes, he is heavily pregnant, almost at the end of the third trimester.”

“Huh….then….?”   
  


“What?”

Sherlock was counting something on his fingers. “Yes, then, back then, seven and half months, oh yes, nearly eight months now, this can’t be anyone else’s but….”

John was now beginning to get annoyed all over again at Sherlock’s cranky behavior. “Will you please just tell me everything? What’s with this mumbling and getting all emo?”

“Mike said it’s _his child_?”

“Yes, and?”

“He is fucking lying. I know it, I just know he is lying. Biology can’t fail, can’t be different, the timeline proves me right. He is NOT the father.” Sherlock didn’t even noticed John’s distress at this point. He simply kept mumbling something else under his breath till he suddenly clicked his fingers, grabbed John’s arm and said, “We need to go to Mycroft’s place and get Jim out of there right away.”

“Why?”

“Because that is my baby Jim is carrying. _That’s why_.”

***

“Once the baby is born, you could do any one of these three things,” Mycroft said after explaining his career options to Jim, “Each of these makes the best use of you superior talent and these immensely irrigated brains you have….and I am sure you have nearly six or seven of them. It would be a _shame_ to let them waste away.”

“What about _Josh_?” Jim seemed excited about the possibilities but he was equally wary about the kid’s upbringing.

“What about him….oh, you mean _who_ will take care of him,” Mycroft ruffled Jim’s hairs affectionately as they sat on the couch watching television just after an early dinner. They had their dinner at six pm nowadays, any later hour than that and Jim felt uneasy and uncomfortable after going to bed. His stomach was super-swollen nowadays and this changed distribution of weight had begun to cause him lower back problems. Mycroft saw his partner wincing from a bolt of pain down his back and quickly adjusted the cushions to make him more comfortable, “Mummy will be there, so will be Mrs. Hudson. Our own nanny, Mrs. McGlade, she raised both me and Sherlock till we were past ten, she has offered her services as well. Daddy will be around and so will be Mrs. Devon. The baby will have lots of people around him.”

“Then what will _you and I_ do?”

“Once we are done with our work, we will be with him. Oh…..I will take three months off to be with him. I am sure you can take six, as you’ll need our own recovery time too. But do think about getting back to work James. I don’t want you to regret not becoming something you could easily become, just because the baby tied you down. Josh will be fine, we will spend quality time with him. We both won’t take up any business travel at the same time, one of us will always be in town with him.” 

Jim nodded slowly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But if any harm comes to him I swear I shall level England.”

“Ouch…. _Moriarty_ is back?”

“If Moriarty chooses to be back, it won’t be a matter of joke.”

“Surely not,” Mycroft said, noticing the mischievous glint in his lover’s eyes, “But he can’t come back. It’s just _not_ possible.”

Jim giggled, “Oh _really?_ Why not?”

Mycroft spoke in a mock-snooty tone, “He will be too busy lapping up the attention from a certain Mycroft Holmes, having _his baby_ next, being dad to two kids and doing a fulltime job.”

Jim let out a toot of joy and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, crushing him into a hug. The Englishman, long used to suppressing his emotions and not being demonstrative, froze for an instant before his new, changed side kicked in. He hugged Jim back and almost immediately the baby kicked out at him between them.

“Ohhhooo,” Mycroft patted Jim’s belly, “You don’t want the daddies to get _too close_ eh meddling little one?”

Jim sighed against Mycroft’s shoulder, blissfully happy. For years he had fought with the noises in his own head, tried to battle the demons dancing inside, made every effort to control his raging impulses and mostly failed. Medical intervention, therapy and Sherlock’s company had cured him somewhat but with the baby and having _this_ alpha, _Mycroft_ , to support him had made an entirely new man, a _new omega_ out of him. He had always hated his secondary gender, the blasted heats, the way he was preyed on by alphas, but now he felt totally comfortable in his own skin, as an omega male, as a pregnant omega male. He no longer felt vulnerable, noisy in the head, restless or suicidal. He wanted to live, he wanted more children, he wanted to be with Mycroft.

He fell into a happy haze, a pleasant dozing state and hadn’t realized he was yawning until Mycroft’s warm, purring voice came to his ears. “You’re falling asleep my little omega. Bedtime for you?”

“Little?”

“Not little down there. Neither of us are.”

“But you are a _huge hung alpha_. Really Mr. Holmes, I hadn’t expected you to be so well-endowed.”

“Oh no…..why would you have underestimated me? Oops, now see what you have done!”

“What happened?!” Jim pulled back in alarm. Mycroft grinned and replied in a whisper, “You spoke out too loud. I am sure Josh heard every word of it.”

Jim snickered and extricated himself from Mycroft’s arms. At the same time the doorbell rang but neither man paid much notice. It must be a grocery order placed by Mrs. Devon or one of the security officers asking for something. If the master of the house was needed for some reason, she would let him know. They didn’t need to bother.

Jim got up from the couch and stretched his arms over his head. His T shirt hitched up and exposed the rounded belly which Mycroft leaned forward and kissed softly around the navel. “Go on then,” he said to the baby mostly, “Nap time for you little one. Let your papa take some rest. Don’t kick around too much, okay?”

“When will you join me?” Jim asked, yawning again. He was tired, his eyes were closing and he didn’t want to fall asleep on his feet. He hated being lazy and sleepy like this, used to little sleep and an active lifestyle, but on the doctor’s advice he had made peace with his current situation. Once the baby was born he’d feel better, more charged up. He was already beginning to think about new career options. Inaction was a parasitic thing, he wanted to avoid it at all costs.

“In fifteen minutes. Brush and drink some water before you get into bed.”

“Sure, don’t be too long, okay?” Jim said as he waddled to the door. Mycroft stared after his partner, something sighing in his heart as he watched the heartwarming scene of his Jim going to bed and demanding he come upstairs and join him soon, the baby bump making him move slower than usual. He had never thought something was missing in his life until he had found the perfect balance with Jim. Who knew a former notorious criminal could become the most stabilizing, grounding factor in his life. Indeed facts were sometimes stranger than fiction and he, for once, wasn’t complaining about the uniqueness of the situation. “Won’t,” he called out as Jim disappeared from view, “Just fifteen minutes, time me!”

He checked his mails, texts and WhatsApp messages by habit, like he always did before going to bed, but his well-trained ears somehow listened for the familiar footsteps of Jim ascending the stairwell. Maybe it was time to move back to the Hyde Park mansion, where they had an elevator. It wasn’t safe for the heavily pregnant omega to climb or descend a staircase, _what if he slipped or stumbled and fell?_

The footsteps just slowed down and halted. Then he heard other footsteps. No, those didn’t belong to Mrs. Devon.

Someone had just rung the bell. _Oh no….was it a security breach?_ “James?” He called out again, already standing up.

No answer.

Then he heard a gasp and muted words and hisses. _Yes, something had happened. something unexpected. The visitor out there was not welcome. And they had cornered his Jim._

“James, Mrs. Devon,” Mycroft grabbed his gun and flew out of the room, nearly colliding into his housekeeper as she came rushing in at the same time. He heard her say ‘Sorry Mr. Holmes, I did try to stop him but he was insistent and Dr. Watson was also there…..’

Mycroft didn’t hear the rest. His eyes were glued to the figure of his brother, _Sherlock Holmes_ , standing inches from Jim with his eyes wide as a highway and his jaw slack with shock. Jim cowered from him but at the same time his eyes were defiant, the old mad glint having returned to those dark orbs. John stood a step behind Sherlock, tugging at his coat sleeve as if he wanted this imbroglio to end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh! I was delaying it. But Sherlock had to find out. 
> 
> Perhaps I am not too kind to Jim but then does he deserve it? He does have a dark past and a bit of payback was due. 
> 
> Right, won't make the baby suffer!


	16. Collision Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation and the aftermath

Jim had come out of the den and walked past the formal reception room, down the hallway and towards the stairwell. He hadn’t suspected anything to be different from the everyday routine, a routine he took comfort in. He would head to the bedroom, pad over to the bathroom and take a piss, brush his teeth, drink water and return to the bedroom to drop his clothes on a chair and apply some moisturizer to his hands and face. Then he would climb into bed, naked, tuck himself in and doze till Mycroft joined him in a few minutes.

The elder Holmes sibling would slather cocoa butter over the stretched skin of his belly and kiss his forehead, tucking him in and talking to him softly till he fell asleep.

But that evening, as he approached the stairwell, something told him it was different. There was a certain presence he could detect that made him uneasy. It was his keenly developed sixth sense that told him his past was back to haunt him just as he was ready to leave it all behind and move on. The first thing he detected was the smell. He had smelled it in Mycroft’s office earlier but neglected to comment on it, as several kinds of people visited his partner and it could belong to anyone. But now it was a singular smell that attacked his nostrils and it was strong enough to denote a very close presence of the individual. The whiff of cigarettes, mint, firewood, earth and spring water. _It was the scent of William Sherlock Scot Holmes_.

_Oh no……_

“Hello Jimmykins!”

“YOU!”

“Give me five minutes….and I see you kept the child.”

“None of your business. How did you get in here?”

“This is my brother’s house,” Sherlock seemed like his former self, the angry and high-strung detective who was equal parts scared and fascinated by the Irishman, “I wonder what _you are_ doing here? The last time we met, I thought you said you’d _never_ set eyes on a Holmes again, that you would obliterate me and my entire family……..no, no, he got you, I can read it in your eyes, there is no loathing of my family, _just me_!!!”

Jim’s face was pinched with anxiety and exhaustion. He was struggling to breathe but in his present anger and moment of jealousy, Sherlock failed to notice that. John didn’t miss it and feebly said, “I don’t think you should be doing this Sherlock. Let’s come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Sherlock hissed, “Now. I need an answer _now_. He is much tougher than he looks and his brain can easily cut through barriers and walls, he’s that sharp. Have you forgotten what he’s capable of?!”

“I have not,” John whispered, afraid this was going in the very wrong direction, “But look at his current condition. He isn’t feeling well.”

“This is MY baby he is carrying, you think I will harm my own omega and my child?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

Jim made a sound that could have been a growl but a sudden shooting pain in his lower abdomen made him double over slightly. His words ended up being more of a croak than a roar as he almost gasped them out, “No, it is not, it’s Mike’s child,” the former criminal said emphatically before Sherlock advanced on him in a threatening manner, eyes on the swollen belly. Jim instinctively put his hand over it, _the protective mother’s move_ , as he backed off a bit. But when Sherlock, still reeling from the shock of Jim’s previous statement, stepped closer to him and into his private space again, the small-built Irishman stared back at him defiantly as if saying ‘You touch me and I will turn you into shoes, which I can still do’.

“Sherlock no, no, Sherlock no….” John muttered under his breath, loud enough for only Sherlock to hear, and tugged at his sleeve insistently.

“Move back, step away from him, James you come _here._ ”

The authoritarian voice was filled with cold rage and barely controlled contempt. As three heads turned in the direction of the voice, they looked into the loaded end of the Smith and Wesson .357 handheld gun. Thomas Mycroft Chad Holmes stood there, eyes blazing with anger, as he took in the sight of Sherlock and John and his omega.

“You stole from me, _thief_ ,” Sherlock seemed to have lost it as he yelled at his elder brother, pointing a shaking finger at him, “ _You thief_.”

“Leave my house Sherlock. We will talk tomorrow, under better circumstances, but right now I am _asking_ you to leave.”

“He is mine,” Sherlock snapped, walking towards Mycroft without even noticing the gun pointed at him, “He and I were together. That is my baby. I am his alpha. You are feasting on second-hand goods. You’re trying to show the world how perfect you are, eh? Your own omega, your baby, this is MY baby. My……”

“Sherlock _this is an order_ , I outrank you in every way, LEAVE!” Mycroft thundered and John flinched. He had never heard the Mi6 chief raise his voice before, not even under the most compelling and dangerous circumstances. From the corner of his eyes he saw Jim going from bad to worse. He seemed giddy, unwell, unsteady on his feet.

“Guys please,” John pleaded, “Not now.”

“I don’t take orders from anyone,” Sherlock shouted, “I don’t work for you. I have been risking my neck and working my backside off to cleanse the world of crime while you reap the benefits. You were talking gratitude yesterday? I say this is a _fine show_ of gratitude, stealing your brother’s family…..”

“You three were _not even_ a family,” Mycroft corrected him spitefully, giving up all pretensions of being civil. Behind Mycroft Mrs. Devon appeared, looking anxious. She was the first one to spot Jim’s fall, even before John himself had noticed it.

The sickening sound of a dull thud, of flesh hitting the cold marble floor, brought all conversations, hostile or otherwise, to an end. Mycroft dropped the gun and rushed forward while Sherlock stepped backwards and reached Jim in a flash. Mrs. Devon hovered behind Mycroft, eyes filled with anxiety, while John knelt beside Jim to check his pulse. Suddenly the pulsating, throbbing anger and animosity in the room had changed, every single person’s focus turning towards a prone Jim who lay there like a limp, inert doll in Mycroft’s arms. “Well for Heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Devon broke the stunned silence, “Dr. Watson can you tell us if he is all right or we should be calling an _ambulance_.”

John swallowed, “The pulse is racing, the pressure also seems to have shot up. It could be signs of something like pre-eclampsia or it might just be nervous stress due to the sudden shock……”

  
“Like two grown men fighting over him like he and his babe are scraps of meat?” Mrs. Devon said angrily, gaze switching from a mortified Sherlock to a pale and ashen faced Mycroft, “He fell right over, keeled over like his feet had turned to clay. I think his front took the blow, bore the brunt of the fall and his entire weight.”

“Fuck,” Sherlock hyperventilated.

“I am such a…..” Mycroft cursed at himself, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

“In this situation I opt for your choice number two Mrs. Devon,” John decided to keep a cool head while all around him were losing theirs, “He is not quite all right so the wisest thing to do would be to call an ambulance. Oh yes, yes, we do need to call an ambulance because of this….can you see this?”

“ _Pee_?” Sherlock looked closely. Jim’s sweat pants were soaked through.

“No, his waters have _broken_ ,” Mrs. Devon said, rushing to get to the phone, “Let me call the ambulance right away.”

“No,” Sherlock picked Jim up in his arms, stunning everyone in the room with his strength, “John, just drive us there will you? Mycroft, call that doctor Stella he’s been consulting. Mrs. Devon, pack a bag for him and send it to the hospital will you?”

***

“Stella?”

“Doctor?”

Several anxious and eager faces stared at the doctor-lady as she emerged from the room where Jim had been kept for a full checkup. She looked at Sherlock, first with affection as she had seen him from the time he was a boy in short pants, then with a bit of shock as she realized he seemed _as worried as Mycroft_ while they waited on a verdict about Jim's condition, as well as the baby that was on the way. _What was it about Jim and the baby that made the usually warring, squabbling brothers unite, in a clinic no less_. They were accompanied by John, Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Devon and the two ladies were so anxious they were sweating and fidgeting openly, clasping and unclasping their hands, hopping from foot to foot. She noticed that they had not called the parents, Eugenia and Reginald, yet; a decision she sort of approved. The picture was not rosy. 

“I will not sugar-coat,” she said, her voice no longer holding the soothing quality it usually had, but taking on a stern edge, “I am not happy at the little accident the mother had, but accidents do happen to some heavily pregnant omega males, especially when they can't manage the enormous weight in the third trimester. But what saddens me is that he clearly underwent some stress before that and that has triggered an untimely labor for him. How careless can you guys get! He wasn’t due for another month, actually for six more weeks, but we have to induce labor now….let’s just say speed it up, so the baby can be out before it suffocates.”

“Suffocates?” Mycroft and Sherlock gasped together.

“Yes, the fetal heartbeat is irregular, faint and the mother isn't able to hold up well either.....”

“But then….”

“How do we…..”

“Jim is not conscious. He’s weak and exhausted due to the fluctuating pressure, the stress and not to mention there was already an earlier condition of a weak placenta. It’s got aggravated now and due to the mother’s condition even the baby is compromised. If Jim cannot manage labor, if he doesn’t have the strength to push, we will have to opt for a C-Section. It’s not advisable to so some immediately, given the fact that Jim has had a heavy meal only a few hours ago, so we have to wait out a bit.”

“Oh God,” Mycroft held his head in his hands, “Oh God no….James, please ensure he’s safe.”

Sherlock had opened his mouth to say something but he shut it audibly and bowed his head, a bit of a defeatist attitude seeping into him as he mumbled, “Can anything be done….for him? For both of them? How bad is it really?”

“If I am being honest, there is a bit of internal bleeding that has started. Chances of infection are there. There is a high chance for Jim to be safe and come out of it unscathed, at least physically, but only a fifty percent chance for the baby.”

Everyone fell into _deathly silence_. No one looked at another, lest they read the other’s fears and felt even more paranoid than they were right now.

***

John found Sherlock in a rather unusual place later. It was a small chapel inside the large clinic, a place where believers spent some time praying for the betterment and sometimes the lives of the ones they loved. Some prayers were answered, others not so much. But while John could have found it to be a very normal step for someone to be there at this hour, given the condition Jim and the baby were in, the last person he had expected there was Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft had been a bit of an agnostic in these matters but he did visit church occasionally. Sherlock _never did_ , at least John had never seen him pray or kneel before an altar, _not until now_.

“Hey,” he took a seat on the front pew. There were only four rows, two seats on each side. It was a very small chapel but fortunately no one was there at the midnight hour. They had some privacy to talk.

“I think I need a rap over my knuckles, a kick to the rear and a slap across my face,” Sherlock’s tone betrayed no emotions as he spoke in his deep, clear voice, “I screwed things up royally, didn’t I Jawn? Look at what I have done! I have almost killed my baby, I have compromised Jim, I have probably turned my brother into a lifelong enemy by acting like a lunatic around Jim and indirectly causing his fall. Guess what…..” he chuckled mirthlessly, “It did scratch at the back of my mind that a confrontation was not a good idea but I-I just didn’t want to lose the omega and the baby that were…..”

“Complete the sentence,” Mrs. Hudson stood at the threshold of the chapel, clearly having heard it all, “What about the omega and the baby?”

“I….um…”

“Go on. Sometimes we need to hear ourselves, you know.”

“It’s complicated.”

John had been increasingly dismayed by the turn of events. While a rather large part of him would have never wished for Jim to be in this situation or for Sherlock to choose Jim over his beta self, a smaller part of him actually wanted things to conclude in such a way that Sherlock and he could walk off into the sunset while Jim and Mycroft did the same. “Relationships _are_ complicated Sherlock,” he said in a stony voice, “But that cannot be an excuse for acting like an insensitive boor. I know this is the last place for me to bring this up, but I want to know the entire story so I have an idea where _I stand in this_.”

Sherlock swallowed with an audible click and turned his face to look at them and only then did they realize the true extent of his sadness and repentance. His cheeks were wet with tears he had shed. John closed his eyes in sadness while Mrs. Hudson rushed forward to hand him her embroidered kerchief.

Sherlock, in his _classic_ style, dabbed his face awkwardly with the kerchief before he blew his nose into it and promptly handed it back to Mrs. Hudson. The landlady didn’t seem to mind and put it back in her purse before she helped Sherlock up and patted a spot between herself and John with John sitting on across the narrow aisle. As the detective settled in, he sighed out aloud and said, “I don’t know how to answer this John without making it sound like I am abandoning one in favor of the other. To be honest, what I had in mind was unconventional, but I thought it might work. But now, it seems Mycroft won’t give up and _it’s me_ who has to give up on any hopes of…..”

“What was the unconventional arrangement you had in mind by the way?” John asked.

“All of us….together.”

“Uhhnnnn?” John made a sound between a gasp, a groan and a hiccup.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Hudson blinked, “Sherlock? _Seriously_?”

“It’s okay, isn’t it?” Sherlock’s voice had a desperation in it that was getting towards the hyperventilation stage, “That was the only way to keep everyone happy, to be fair to all of us, including the baby. With you around John, I knew the baby wouldn’t suffer. With the impulse control problems Jim has, the eccentricities I do, what were the chances of the baby not getting _damaged beyond redemption_.”

John did a facepalm, “God! A Ménage-a-Trois! I don’t believe this.”

“Let him speak John,” Mrs. Hudson insisted, “Sherlock, why did you let him go then? You could have told him about this….unique arrangement you had in mind? Did he to react to this and leave in a huff, which is _perfectly_ understandable.”

“No,” Sherlock wrung his hands together like he was holding an invisible dish rag between them, “This struck me as I came back to London. Earlier I had told him we were over, that I didn’t want the baby and he was an….unfit mother…that he should…..abort.....and when he threatened to kill himself instead I asked him what was stopping him. I even mocked him saying that his failure rate at killing himself, given the number of suicide attempts he had made earlier, was incredibly high.”

“Jesus,” Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes.

“Oh Sherl,” John shook his head. He felt strangely _sympathetic_ towards the former mastermind.


	17. The birth and after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Give me Scott and I will never bother you again.”

As Sherlock entered the room where the surgery was taking place, he saw Mycroft being wheeled out on a gurney. “Bastard fainted,” he muttered, startling one of the orderlies and nurses who were pushing the gurney out of the room, “So I have been called as a replacement. Great, so that’s what I am now, _a replacement_.”

“Sherlock shush,” the surgeon in charge, Stella, hissed at him, “Leave the animosities outside the door or _go out the door_.”

Sobering up in an instant, Sherlock approached the table and stood by, not sure what to do. His eyes fell on Jim who was under general anesthesia. He didn’t have the strength to push and the baby couldn’t wait, hence they had given up the idea of a natural birth and chosen to do a Cesarean instead. That was not so worrisome, as many male omega births developed complications and had to be done this way, to keep the baby safe. What caught Sherlock’s attention was the fact that the baby was not out yet, even though it was more than half hour since the whole procedure had started.

“Where is Scott?” He demanded.

The whole group around the surgery table gave him strange looks over their masks. One of the nurses came forward and pushed the mask up over Sherlock’s nose and mouth, _glaring_ at him. “I see you have assisted in more childbirths than some small country’s population. But you clearly do not have any kids of your own.” Sherlock harrumphed at her, grinning behind his mask as the words hit the woman immediately.

Stella, while hard at work, muttered in a ‘I knew it’ voice, “See, I told you we should leave him out of this.”

Instantly one of the assisting surgeons stepped away from the surgery and approached Sherlock. Before the detective knew it, she had backed him up against the wall on the far side and pulled down her mask briefly, uncovering a face that would easily get lost in a crowd but a voice and fiery eyes which said she was far from an ordinary person. She was _determined, bold, and tough._

“I don’t care how big or famous you are, Sherlock Holmes, nor do I wanna know how you’re even alive after that swan dive you took two years ago. This is where we rule, everyone you see there huddled over the poor man who’s lost so much blood he might slip into a coma. We are in a profession where there can be no room for error so help me God, if you try any of your attention grabbing tactics in here, I will ensure you’re really lying in the morgue downstairs with a tag around your big toe.”

Her angry but sincere words transformed him somewhat. He nodded, to show he understood. “Good,” she let him go.

“Just two questions.”

“What are they? Make it quick.”

“How is Scott….I mean _my son_? And is James really going into coma? Why was I even called in?” Sherlock asked them in rapid-fire mode. She rolled her eyes and adjusted her mark again, already turning back to return to her job. “That makes for three questions but I’ll answer. Scott, I mean the baby, has the placenta around his neck and we are trying to extricate him carefully. James will need a lot of aftercare. Maybe the coma can be avoided but we’re not sure yet. Give it ten or fifteen more minutes. What was the last question….oh, yes, why were you called in? Not on our own volition. But we did because your brother insisted that _you should be here_ , as he had started feeling unwell once we had made the first incision on his partner.”

Sherlock had opened his mouth to make a smartass comment on his brother’s inability to handle the sight of blood but her earlier words ‘your brother insisted that you should be here’ made him snap his trap shut. _Mycroft had really asked for that?_

“Baby out!”

Sherlock’s heart leapt in his chest and he rushed towards the table, eyes first falling on Jim as he watched the Irishman’s serene visage for a moment. Underneath the surgery cap concealing his hair, Jim looked merely asleep. Sherlock cast a quick glance at the machines monitoring his vitals and smiled. He knew how to read those stats. Jim was holding up well. Scott would be fine too! _The worst was most definitely over._

Or not….

“APGAR score 1.”

The pediatrician called out aloud. She had taken the baby to a separate area within the room to test. Stella in the meantime continued to work on Jim.

“He looks too blue, too unresponsive,” Sherlock muttered, moving toward the side where Jim’s head was. He extended a gloved hand at the unconscious omega’s head, barely touching his cheek but needing to feel connected to the mother of his baby. He whispered so low that he wasn’t sure if it was merely a voice in his head or he had actually spoken the words out aloud.

“Scott will be fine.”

Minutes ticked by, _painfully slow._

“Score below three.”

“Scott will be fine,” the detective parroted himself. Then he closed his eyes and repeated something he hadn’t done more than once in his life of thirty four years, the first occasion being only about a couple of hours ago at this very clinic.

_He prayed._

***

Three days was what it took for things to be truly normal and the mother and baby to be completely out of danger. While Josh Scott was in special care, in one of the most modern and well-equipped incubators designed for neonates that needed support, Jim had to be kept in medical coma so his fragile body recovered enough to cope with the normal requirements of a young male, from eating and digesting to movement and speech. He had lost so much blood that he was in serious danger during the moments the baby was being taken out, but Stella had done a _fabulous_ job in taking care of him right after.

Sherlock and Mycroft struck up an uneasy truce, silent and unspoken. While they took turns to look after the omega and the newborn, they didn’t exchange a _single_ word with each other.

When Jim woke up and finally got his bearings, it was the fourth day and the baby had just been shifted to the normal nursery with other neonates. Phone calls were finally made that day to Eugenia and Reginald, also to Sebastian Moran. As a matter of luck, all three of them were too far away to come over immediately. Sebastian was in Australia on business while Reginald and Eugenia were in Vladivostok, on a book tour. They would need a couple of days to be there. “Good to know you’re okay Jim-Jim,” Sebastian said as he spoke to Jim over the phone, “Sorry, I had no idea the babe would come out so soon or else I’d never have planned this trip.”

“It’s okay, we’re going nowhere tiger. Come over as and when you can.”

“Taking the flight _tonight_ boss.”

Jim disconnected and looked at Mycroft who had just entered the room. “Hon,” the Mi6 chief smiled, “How are you feeling?”

  
“Give me a huge chocolate ice cream and I’ll tell you I’m fine,” Jim turned up his nose at the soup he had been fed, the empty bowl and tray still beside his bed. He had been sponged and combed and dressed in a fresh hospital gown, he had also been shaved with a nice after-shave rubbed down his now-smooth cheeks. The room smelled of lotion and after shave and the omega’s own fresh scent, wildflowers and berries with a touch of pink peppercorn.

Mycroft scented him and kissed the top of his head. “Sorry, the doctor says you need to take it easy for two more days.”

Jim _pouted_.

“You two gave us quite the scare you know,” Mycroft stated softly, “I thought I was strong enough to tide over any rough sea but, as it turned out, I wasn’t really strong enough. At one point it all got extremely embarrassing.”

“Yeah, so I heard,” Jim laughed, leaning against Mycroft easily, “How long were you out? _One_ hour or _two_?”

“One and half,” Mycroft chuckled. They kissed lightly on the lips before Jim made a pleading puppy face at the older man. “Can we go see Josh right now? I mean, they won’t take him out of the nursery for two more days and I don’t think I can wait that long, please!” His eyes were shining with the eagerness and love that only a mother could have for the newborn and Mycroft didn’t have the heart to stop Jim even though he’d have preferred for Jim to be kept away from a few discoveries for at least a couple more days. “You think you will be able to get out of bed?” He asked, hoping to discourage him that way, “You had a surgery after all, just four days ago.”

“I am supposed to be up and about from day two, resuming my normal indoors life in four and regained 75% of my fitness and mobility in six days,” Jim said with emphasis, even though he winced slightly as his feet touched the floor and he stood independently, without support.

“Yes James but those are for cases which are _free from complications and post-natal issues._ Josh was in the incubator till last night and you were out of it till this morning.”

“But right now I am not in induced coma, I am awake. Correct?”

“Yes, _correct._ ”

“Then take me there. I just want to see Josh. Is it so _much_ to ask for?”

“No,” Mycroft stated, giving up the fight, “I guess not. All right, come on, let’s go see Joshua. It’s a good thing that it’s only a short walk from this room to the nursery, about twenty meters down the corridor and then roughly five meters down the hallway to the right.”

The first thing that greeted Jim’s senses as they slowly approached the nursery was the _sweet, sweet smell of the babies_. Even though the door was closed and one could only view through a sheet of plain glass, the scents somehow found their way out and the hallway was rife with it. Sweet peaches and summery flowers, hint of vanilla and strawberry, the smooth whiff of fresh spring-water and the subdued notes of sweet and clean skin and hair that only infants had. Most visitors there were taking in a big lungful of breath and smiling. 

_Jim got a bit of attention_. Omega male mothers were rare and naturally other parents and relatives turned to look. Some stared because he looked so good, glowing and happy and pretty with the joy of newfound parenthood, which had easily eclipsed the health conditions he had. 

“There,” Mycroft pointed tentatively. Jim went forward and pressed his hands and the tip of his nose against the glass, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes were filled with wonder.

“My son, our son,” he whispered, emotional but masking the thing rather well, “I told you it will be a son. _It will be a boy._ Look!”

Mycroft held his breath as Jim studied the infant closely, knowing the brunette would soon figure out something by simply looking at the name tag. But Jim was slow to notice that, his entire focus being on the little baby boy instead. For a moment or two Mycroft just studied Jim’s face, getting lost in the look of affection the Irishman had at that moment. If anybody saw him right now they’d think there was really a Richard Brook, someone far removed from the dangerous mastermind who once evoked terror in the hearts and minds of masses and even brought entire police forces and governments down to their knees. Jim looked like a parent, a true proud and relieved parent, fascinated by the first sighting of their child, their own flesh and blood, their very own creation.

“He has my nose, I am sure. He has my hair too and the shape of my face.”

“He’s a chubby little ball. How can you figure that out?”

“Oh but I can. He’s going to look a lot like me, I hope he will be _tall_ though. He must inherit the Holmes family height.”

Mycroft realized a _white elephant_ was standing right beside them, duly ignored. Jim had not even once asked about Sherlock. The last time he was awake and on his feet, it was Sherlock and Mycroft engaged in a tug of war over the omega and the baby. Surely Jim knew the alpha who had impregnated him wouldn’t have simply disappeared in a poof of smoke.

“See those cute little hands and feet, those tiny toes and…..” Jim’s eyes travelled southwards, right down to the baby’s name tag.

_That is it. He will now ask._ Mycroft braced himself for the question and the subsequent reactions that would follow his answer.

“His _name_ ,” Jim studied the name tag at the foot of the crib and looked at Mycroft with confusion written in his eyes, “It says Scott Joshua James Holmes. It should be Joshua James Holmes and not….wait, Scott is one of Sherlock’s names. How did that name come into…..how did you let them name him like that, that too the first name of _my_ boy, _our_ boy!?!”

“ _Sherlock is the father_ , James,” Mycroft said quietly, “Much as we would both like to deny him his rights, he does indeed have them. If he asks for a paternity test it will be clear as crystal that he is the biological father, not me. If the father wishes to name the boy, or at least include one of the names he had thought of, we can’t just stop him.”

The elder Holmes prepared himself for a full-fledged rant, a barrage of ‘how could you’ questions or at least a death glare from the omega but what he got instead was Jim’s strangely resigned look and a soft murmured comment of ‘I do understand that’.

After gazing longingly at the newborn for some more time, Jim turned towards Mycroft and said, “I’ll go back to my room now. My stitches hurt a bit.”

***

Sherlock watched as his parents fussed over Jim and Mycroft and made frequent trips to the nursery to look at the child. As the baby was now stable and out of danger from any infections, the doctor allowed the nurse to bring the baby over to the mother so Jim could hold the bundle of joy in his arms and the others could take a closer look too. As they cooed and fawned over the baby, touching its tiny toes and chubby face, the headful of dark hairs and pudgy little hands, the detective simply stood by without a word, without an expression. From time to time his eyes strayed over to Jim but the moment their eyes met, he looked away.

“Thank you son,” Eugenia said gratefully, “For this baby. _The Holmes heir_.”

Jim just took a bow, smiled a little and remained quiet. Though joyful, he was also pretty quiet throughout the evening. Since the atmosphere was one of unbridled joy, everyone ecstatic about the arrival of Scott Joshua and the fact that both he and Jim were fine and in good health now, no one noticed the strange behavior from the two geniuses. The fact that two men in the room, the mother of the baby and the silent alpha who took a backseat, were hardly talking to anyone and who hadn’t exchanged a word since the birth of the baby.

A moment arrived when everyone had left the room for some reason or the other, Mycroft to answer a call from the Prime Minister’s office, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and John had made a quick trip to the cafeteria, Sebastian tagging along with them, and Mrs. Hudson has excused herself for the evening since she had a commitment at home. Jim found himself alone with the nurse taking the baby away for a feed.

That was when Sherlock walked in. “This wasn’t _decided_ ,” he said in a low growl, “This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan.”

“You have what you wanted,” Jim snapped back, “And I have mine.”

“Which is? My darling brother?”

“Yes, so?”

“Then give me my son. I am sure my brother is _virile_ enough and you’re _fertile_ enough to have more kids of your own. Give me Scott and I will never bother you again.”


	18. The Secret Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told him already, he either keeps Scott or he keeps Mycroft." 
> 
> John coaxes Sherlock to give out the terrible truth.

“James,” Mycroft placed a gentle hand between Jim’s shoulder blades, “Come back to bed. He’s asleep, he’ll be fine.”

“Just watching him,” Jim said in a voice that was so heavy with sadness that it cut through to Mycroft’s heart as well. He felt that sadness wash over him in a quick wave, leaving him bewildered and confused.

Mycroft, on his part, _couldn’t stop grinning_. He was a father now, a daddy, and for the first time in his adult life he had his own family. From just a lonely, singular and isolated existence a year ago he was suddenly flushed with company, joys and filial duties. He had a partner and a son, both of whom he felt responsible for, and as an alpha his instincts strongly urged him to care for them, protect them and provide them with the best of everything. He spent hours playing with Joshua, bathing and feeding him and talking to him as well, he spent time in the kitchen making delicious and healthy dishes for Jim, he gave Jim back rubs and foot massages as the omega recuperated from surgery.

Naturally that meant compromising on sleep and any time for himself but he didn’t mind that one bit. The changes he noticed in himself perplexed him at times but he was happy, so he didn’t question the changes or any of the factors that influenced them.

“Today one more person fainted at work,” Mycroft stated in a whisper in Jim’s ears, trying to distract him from the baby and steer him back to bed, “Anthea considers me responsible but truthfully speaking all I did was just smile and show him my baby’s pics, Josh’s pics. He was staring at me in a strange manner and suddenly he wasn’t there. I heard a dull thud and the next thing I know, he’s lying on the ground.”

Jim leaned backwards into Mycroft. He didn’t say a word. His eyes remained fixed on the sleeping face of his son.

“James, baby what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I am fine. Just that…..”

“Just what? Tell me. Share with me. Maybe I can help.”

“Then _help me,”_ Jim spun around and his expression was of such abject despair and baleful misery that Mycroft gasped and cursed himself for not noting this before. “Please Mikey,” Jim hugged Mycroft tight and mashed his nose and mouth into the older man’s chest.

“Yes, I will, of course I will,” Mycroft tried to calm him down as he noticed how his mate was on the verge of an outburst. It had happened before, the previous week, just after returning from the clinic. Jim had _burst into tears_ for no reason at all and couldn’t stop for an hour. Then a couple of days before he had trashed one of the guest rooms in a fit of sudden rage and stayed completely silent for the next few hours, just holding Josh in his arms. No one, not even Mycroft could make him open his mouth. Not wanting a repeat, the elder Holmes kissed the nape of Jim’s neck, knowing how it calmed him down, and whispered, “Let’s get back to bed and we will talk about it.”

“Can I take _Josh_ with me?”

Mycroft couldn’t deny Jim even if the latter asked him for his _heart_ , carved out and set on a platter. This was a very small ask as compared to that and Mycroft nodded enthusiastically even though he was not much in favor of children sleeping on the same bed as their parents. He picked Joshua up in his arms, balancing him against his arm and chest, then wrapped his free arm around Jim. The Irishman seemed to appreciate the gesture and obediently went and lay down, holding little Joshua in his arms while Mycroft spooned him from behind. For a little while it was all quiet and peaceful in the bedroom, the occasional whistle of the soft breeze blowing in through the windows and the quiet rhythms of Joshua’s breathing the only sounds to be heard.

“I wish I could feed him.”

“What?”

“You aren’t even _awake_?”

“No, no, well…..I almost slept, but I am awake now, sorry,” Mycroft blinked and tried to focus. He had started to doze. He was comfy, tired and pleasantly snug in bed with his loved ones in his arms, sleep was bound to come crashing down at some point. But Jim was wide awake, if one were to go by his voice, and Mycroft quickly tried to wake up enough to continue the conversation with his lover.

“I said, I wish I could feed my baby,” Jim said ruefully, kissing the baby’s soft head, “Then he would need me for at least six months.”

“ _What are you saying_?” Mycroft said dismissively, “Six months only! He will need you for far, far longer than that. He won’t be fully independent till he’s in his early teens and to become financially independent will take even longer, say till he’s in his early twenties.”

“You don’t understand….”

Mycroft raised himself on an elbow and turned on the bedside light. “James, something is bothering you. If you do not talk to me openly how can I be of any help sweetheart?”

Jim stared at him for a moment before his lower lip wobbled. “I-I am…if I….if I tell you, you’ll start…..hating me. Hating me.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks as he softly cried.

The sounds and vibes of his distress reached Josh and soon the infant became affected by it. From a very peaceful slumber, the little babe started to get restless and fidgety. At first it started to flail its arms and then soft whimpers came out of his throat. A bit of kicking and soft wailing later, he launched a full-fledged crying fit. Jim sat up, alarmed, and tried to calm Josh but it didn’t work and soon both his boys were distressed, causing Mycroft to wonder who to comfort first.

Eventually it took Mycroft two more hours to put both Joshua and Jim to sleep. But by then sleep had shot out of his head and he felt too disturbed to even lie down. He was worried about Jim. There was clearly _something wrong_ with _him_.

***

John talked to Mycroft while watching Sherlock at the same time. The detective was poring over something in his laptop, alternately frowning and grinning. Over the past two weeks Sherlock had been behaving strangely. For starters, he was aloof but preoccupied, something he became whenever he had a difficult, challenging case. However, in this case there was no case to speak of. Second, Sherlock had actually refused a case. _Refused a case!_ It had startled John but he had let it slide thinking that after two years of chasing after criminals and warlords, he probably needed a break. It was the third change he had noticed in his mate that had caused John the _most concern_.

Sherlock seemed to have forgotten all about Jim and baby Scott Joshua. The same alpha who was willing to draw first blood and walk the ends of the earth to claim them hadn’t even mentioned them for days. John wondered what was going on! Surely Sherlock hadn’t given up!

As he listened to an unusually agitated Mycroft and understood the issues and changes in Jim’s recent behavior, John’s ‘doctor-mind’ started to work backwards and make a quick diagnosis. “Shortly after giving birth he begins to behave differently as compared to before,” John repeated as he kept an eye on Sherlock, “Long periods of silence, crying fits, anger and hysteria, worrying unnecessarily about the child, shutting you out at times and at other times crying for help, I think I can figure out what’s going on there. It is called post-partum depression. Happens due to unusual levels of hormone, sometimes a sudden drop…..”

“Oh _thank God_. I was thinking it was _me_.”

“No, it’s definitely not you. But I do advise you to be gentle, cautious and understanding.”

“What do I do now? To help him, I mean.”

“He needs to see a counsellor, a therapist. Talk to Stella and ask her to give you a name. Since many new mothers suffer from this malady, chances are that she, as a gynecologist, already has a name to refer you to. I am sure someone she recommends will also be a good one, effective in their ways. Maybe some meds might be needed, some sessions where he can just talk and be listened to, _it will help_.”

“Can’t you help?”

“I am a general surgeon and a consulting physician on general health matters, not a specialist in mental health or postpartum conditions. Let the _real_ specialist do the job for _best_ results.” As John spoke, he kept watching Sherlock who was now grinning like a loon as he literally crawled into the laptop, so hunched down over it that his entire face was hidden behind the screen. “Listen Mycroft, I need to go now, just talk to Stella and fix an appointment, okay?” John said distractedly when he saw Sherlock get up and walk away with his phone, something he did very often nowadays. Earlier he would take call kinds of calls before John but of late every call he made was done in _privacy_! A part of John had begun to wonder if _all_ of those _calls_ were being made to Jim.

As he passed by Sherlock’s laptop, his eyes fell on the screen. What he saw there made him stop and change his mind. He gave up the idea of listening-in to Sherlock’s call and chose to investigate the man’s internet activity instead. A thought came to his mind as he crouched before the laptop. _Come to think of it, Sherlock does spend most of his time on the net nowadays and I need to know what the fuck is going on over there!_

He rapidly went through the various open windows, maximizing and minimizing them as he took quick glances at all. The more he saw, the more his brows knotted together. What on earth was the meaning of this?

Baby room designs.

Baby food and recipes.

Baby toys, especially those that helped with eye-hand coordination.

Vaccinations for newborns right up to the second year.

Nannies, agencies, sample resumes and salaries.

Playschools

Google pages with questions like ‘What if I shoot a hole in the wall in the presence of my son’ and ‘Can I keep body parts in the fridge next to baby formula’.

John swallowed, _sighing out aloud_. His hunch had just been proved right. His boyfriend was definitely up to something.

Sherlock was hiding something from him, something big and something John wouldn’t approve. He had not uttered a word about Scott and yet it seemed like he was spending all his waking hours planning to look after the baby and ensuring all of its needs were met.

John made up his mind to find out and there was one fail-safe way to make Sherlock speak honestly, openly and truthfully.

***

“Uh-Uh-Uh-Uh,” Sherlock went as he was pounded into, _hard_. He was on his hands and knees on the spacious bed, barely able to keep himself upright as John relentlessly slammed into him, fucking him like there was no tomorrow. Small moans and needy wails tumbled out of the alpha who, much against the tenets of his secondary gender and the tenets of biology as well, loved being taken hard and without mercy.

John was a beta but he too, much like Sherlock, had some subdued alpha instincts in him. He was happy to give and give it exactly how Sherlock wanted, relentless and all-consuming, leaving him a satisfied wreck in the aftermath.

“Like it?” He said as his palms repeatedly connected with the detective’s shapely bum, the loud smacking sounds seemed rather obscene and hot, punctuated by the steady moaning and grunting of the two men. Sherlock nodded, the headful of curls bouncing in response, and John dove in even deeper. Every time he spanked Sherlock, the sleuth squeezed his arse cheeks in response, and that made him feel John even more. At the same time it made John’s eyes roll to the back of his head, the tight channel getting even tighter and hotter. “What a slut you are for me?” He hissed, kneading the twin globes like dough and parting them.

There was a shiny redness between the pale cheeks and the tempting, arousing sight of his own cock appearing and disappearing in that hot body. John’s eyes gleamed as he watched, then he let go and draped himself over Sherlock’s back, reaching around him so his hand dipped between the slender open legs. He found the hot rod there, wet at the tip and throbbing with anticipated climax.

“Wow, what a pretty cock!”

“J-Jawn….”

“Mmmm, I’d like to swirl my tongue around the tip and taste those juices!”

“Do….do….your thing!!”

Sherlock sounded _greedy, depraved, desperate_. He was shaking with the need to cum and making all kinds of sexy sounds. John wanted to see and feel his lover cum before he gave in to his bodily needs and since he was _already_ very close, he had to get Sherlock off right _now_.

He grabbed the thick and long girth of his lover and squeezed, then started to stroke rapidly around the slippery head.

“FUCKKKKK!”

Sherlock made a few choked sounds, then a loud cry, then John’s hand was covered with heat.

Seconds later John came, the sight of Sherlock’s body shuddering with pleasure and those breathy moans pushing him over the edge. He stayed inside Sherlock for as long as it took for the detective to feel completely sated and happy. Then, he pulled out, kissed Sherlock’s bottom sweetly and cleaned him up with a wet wash cloth.

By then, _much as he had expected_ , Sherlock was very close to falling asleep. He looked serene, shagged out, happy and content in afterglow. This was the time he was the most open, unguarded, trusting. Earlier John used these moments to make the younger man eat and drink but today his plans involved something more delicate, something that would need a lot of tact and coaxing.

John started to draw patterns on the younger man’s back, knowing how much his lover enjoyed that. Within a few seconds he was breathing in the ‘happy scents’ emanating from the alpha. As a beta his nostrils were not trained to scent but the scents were so strong at this moment that it was hard to miss it. Green apples, fresh basil, rose and lilies, fresh tea, a hint of hickory wood smoke, he could sense Sherlock was in a happy and relaxed head space right now. Still, he needed to position his questions carefully and use the right words, or he could easily botch it up. As he felt Sherlock sag against the mattress, heard his breathing deepen and caught the occasional purring sound from him, he closed in for the ‘kill’.

“I wish Scott was with us, even if for a weekend.”

“Hmmm! I agree. But do you also….feel that way?”

“I can’t have children. This was my only chance.”

Sherlock stiffened and John held his breath. _It was working so far_. “Just hypothetically speaking,” Sherlock began, yawning between words, “If Scott was here with us, we can look after him, right? Just you and me, maybe Hudders can help and after he’s a year old….”

“Hire a nanny?” John asked, “I think we can. But both of us won’t travel together.”

“Of course not. Scott can’t be left on his own, unless mummy pitches in. If she is there then we can always take a break. We can continue our careers whilst looking after our Scotty!!”

John withdrew all touches at that point and lay down next to Sherlock, keeping some space between them. He could sense Sherlock was aware of this withdrawal and intrigued by it. In his best disappointed tone John then said, “But why are we even _discussing this_? It’s not really going to happen. Scott won’t be staying with us, _ever_. It didn’t seem like Jim would ever agree to this arrangement, even if it’s for a weekend.”

Sherlock rolled over, snuggled into John’s arms and said, “ _He will_. I told him already, he either keeps Scott or he keeps Mycroft. I think he will come over to me, _with_ our son.”


	19. Do You Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shows his truly dark side

“I don’t need therapy,” Jim said as he watched Mycroft top and tail the baby and gently brush his soft hairs. Now almost a month old, Joshua was more of a real person son, no longer a curled up pup who slept twenty hours a day and only interacted with his parents by crying. Now he smiled, stared at whoever was tending to him, even made a few babbling sounds.

“Oo-aa,” went the gurgling and happy baby as Mycroft tickled its tummy before closing the buttons of the Onesie.

“Darling it’s postnatal depression due to hormonal changes in the body,” the elder Holmes said as he continued to coo over the baby while pulling Jim closer by tugging at his arm, “It is not the same as any mental illness or a condition that is more permanent and resilient in nature. It’s temporary and all the doctor will do is help you cope with it. If you want to shake off this melancholy aura that seems to hang around you permanently, then this is the solution. I will come along with you if that makes you feel better, but I’ll wait outside the room while the therapist speaks with you.”

Jim took baby Josh from Mycroft and sighed, “Sherlock used to do the same thing for me. He would wait outside for hours while I was treated and counseled. He never complained.”

Mycroft’s breath just hitched in his chest. He pushed down the flare of jealousy in his heart and asked, “You miss him _still_?”   
  


Jim looked rather pitifully small. His voice was even smaller as he answered, “Yes, _sometimes._ ”

Silence fell over both men and the room they were in, broken only by the baby’s occasional ‘oooeee’ and ‘hehhh’ sounds. Despite his usually composed nature and his mature way of handling situations, the might Mycroft Holmes found himself at a total loss at the moment. _There will always be three of us in this relationship. Sherlock’s ghost will hover around us until it drives us apart._

Then, as suddenly as that thought came, a sudden bolt of realization hit the elder Holmes. A series of rapid observations helped him make up his mind. Mycroft looked first at Jim’s pale face and defeated body language, then at his smile-less mouth and lifeless eyes, and finally at the beautiful green eyes of baby Josh. Just like Sherlock! Of course, _it was, is_ and would _always be_ Sherlock. His brother was the real alpha this family needed.

Jim and Josh needed a different kind of care, an alpha’s care, that too an alpha who had actually impregnated one and helped conceive the other. I would always be a caretaker, a stand-in. I can’t even be a decent replacement.

“Do you want to talk to Sherlock?” He asked, despite his heart shattering to pieces, “See if he _still wants to_ …..” He didn’t finish the sentence but the meaning was understood despite that.

“NO,” Jim said suddenly, placed Joshua in Mycroft’s arms and stomped out of the room as if horrified and embarrassed. He slammed doors and the sounds of his footsteps swiftly descending the stairwell came shortly afterwards. Mycroft wondered if Jim would stay out of the house for the entire evening, just like he had done two days ago.

Mycroft stared at the bundle of joy in his arms, dismayed and disillusioned, wondering how things had started to go _so wrong_. “Oh God,” he bemoaned as he held the little baby to his chest and wished for a Divine intervention of some kind, “Please help me.”

***

Jim had decided to start some preliminary work and make himself as busy as possible as he awaited the near inevitable. Sherlock was a man of his words and had photographic memory. He wasn’t going to forget what he had made _, rather forced_ , Jim to commit to. It was only a matter of time before the detective came to claim his pound of flesh and walked away with it. As the days passed and Jim healed from childbirth and regained his strength, he realized that he had become a rather difficult man to live with. The constant fear he nurtured had made him irritable and frustrated and very temperamental.

His soul wounds putrefied even though his flesh wounds were almost invisible by now.

One and half month old Scott Joshua James Holmes cooed and played in his crib, which Jim had strapped to wheels to convert it into a fancy little push cart in the shape of a Ferrari convertible. A man of refined tastes himself, Jim also had ample money at his disposal and had bought only the best things for the baby, including tiny Prada suits, a bespoke Armani crib, and toys that were one of a kind and limited edition. But if there was one thing he couldn’t buy, it was time with his infant son. Sooner or later he knew he would have to give up his tiny bundle of joy!

“No….” he gasped, hand pausing on the blueprint he was making on the whiteboard, a sort of strawman.

“No to what?”

The deep baritone! The familiar footsteps. Jim dropped the marker and instinctively stood before the crib, wide eyes on the man standing at the doorway. “How did you get in here?” He demanded.

“This is my brother’s house,” Sherlock shrugged, “I am allowed to walk in.”

  
“This is also my house now. And I say you can’t just walk into any room.”

“What? Your house? Has my stupid egg-faced brother proposed to you already?”

Maybe because he wanted to give Sherlock a firm answer on his face or because of a temptation to make him understand that Jim had indeed moved on, the Irishman nodded and said in a snide tone, “He did. That was much more than what you had _ever offered_ to me, even after three years together.”

Sherlock waved his arm dismissively and pointed at Jim’s bare finger with his eyes, “Then may I ask what became of that engagement ring? Did it grow wings and fly away or did it just slip and fall and get lost down the sink hole?”

At that Jim flew towards Sherlock and gave him a mighty push. It made Sherlock stagger backwards a bit but he straightened his back again and stared down his height at the hapless, nerveless Jim, for once enjoying a role reversal. _The threat-spewing antagonist was now the one cornered and croaking, what an enormous turnaround he had made!_ “I guess your sick curiosity must be urging you to admit I rejected the proposal, isn’t it? Well yes, I did say _no_ , but not because I don’t wish to be with him anymore. I said ‘no’ in order to protect him. So that when you take the baby away and he _hates me for giving Josh to you_ , he won’t have to break up with me on top of that. He can just throw me out, toss me to the sidewalk on my arse.”

“Oh the self-sacrificing little lambkin,” Sherlock laughed derisively, “Being so good to the older brother.”

“Why don’t you leave me alone, leave us _all_ alone?” Jim yelled.

Joshua started crying, obviously having sensed the distress of his papa and not liking it one bit. Tiny arms flung out as he kept wailing louder and louder. “You’re upsetting _my_ son,” Sherlock snarled as he looked at the infant, “Stop being theatrical. Shut the fuck up.”

Jim shook a finger at Sherlock, lowering his voice but still yelling at the latter. “Just because that beta can’t bear you kids, you wanna take away what is rightfully mine? As for Mike, he is much more of a daddy than you can ever be. Instead of abandoning me like you did, saying the baby was none of his business in the first place, he actually supported and cared for me throughout the time I carried Josh. If Josh is healthy and safe today it’s because of Mike, no thanks to _you._ ” 

“That’s why I am not asking you to come back to me,” Sherlock replied coldly, “Stay with big brother. Heaven knows you two deserve each other. I just want my son.”

  
“No,” Jim hurriedly picked up the infant and bounced it against his chest, “Not now, you need to give me enough time to prepare myself. You said you’d give me two days’ notice at least.”

“What if I have _changed_ my mind?”

“No, Sherlock, I am begging you.”

Sherlock rocked on his heels, “Should I just let Mycroft know the truth?”

Jim gasped.

“When we started out together over two years ago, to bring down your web but also to travel around the world and find a new home for ourselves, to spin a new web, just the two of us and our matching geniuses, taking on the world and creating a network that would be organized crime, one for which we can never be convicted…..remember? Oh I bet you remember! We were even supposed to take on Mycroft and the corrupt British establishment, remove him from the path if that was what it took to create a new Britain. All those ambitions, dreams, razor sharp plans to be the most powerful masterminds in the world!!! With me by your side, you had even…….”

“Stop it,” Jim looked aghast, “Those were fun, dreamy moments when we were in bed, just babbling, they were never meant to be real.”

“ _You_ were babbling, not _me_ ,” Sherlock smiled evilly and suddenly Jim saw in the sleuth the darker side of brilliance. He had seen those mad glints in his own eyes once, now he saw them in Sherlock and knew the man meant business. He stepped backwards as Sherlock stepped forwards, clutching his baby in his arms. Fortunately Josh had stopped crying and was now making soft and adorable whimpering sounds.

“I recorded it all.”

Jim’s own voice floated around the room as Sherlock replayed the audio clip. The Irishman cringed as he heard himself, a drunken slur in his voice, breathy and gasping, interspersed by cackling laughter and Sherlock’s deep voice egging him on. _Oh God, it had been a trap!_

“This isn’t all,” Sherlock said as he flashed a piece of paper before Jim, “Your handwriting, right? Remember, _planning to kill Mycroft_ in case he didn’t agree to our plan of ending Moriarty permanently and Holmes temporarily, so we could escape from England and embark on our journey? This is only a copy! So tearing it up will not serve any purpose since I have your original handwritten letter with me.”

“I used to be unwell those days…..”

“Yeah but this isn’t time stamped. It merely says we need to _kill Mycroft_. Imagine my brother’s joy and pride when he sees his beloved’s letter, hears him speak, realizes he has been conned throughout. I am his sibling, I am family, so he will forgive me no matter what. The same can’t be said about you Mr. Moriarty!”

“Why are you doing this? _Why this sudden affinity for my son_? You abandoned me, you didn’t even care about Josh, all you cared about those days was your mission, that was your holy grail. Do you even realize that whatever you’re asking for _today_ was yours, _only yours_ , _yesterday_. You rejected us then and now that we belong to someone else, you’re blackmailing me to come back to you? Really? I don’t love you anymore Sherlock.”

“And you love _Mycroft_?” Sherlock almost spat out the words, “Who are you trying to deceive Jim? Me or yourself? What you feel for him is just plain gratitude. You like his power, his authority, the way he lifts a finger and the job is done and then how he worships you just because with you he’s punching way above his own weight. It’s _so like you_ to confuse things because of your diseased, crazy mind.”

“ _Crazy? Diseased_?” Jim was sure this was the moment he had started hating Sherlock all over again and there would be no turnaround this time, “Says the drug addict, the substance abuser, the one considered the slowest in the family, an alpha who abandons his pregnant omega and comes back to claim the pup months later, at his convenience. Even a crazy and diseased mind like mind didn’t plot against my own family, or a brother who’s held you together every time you had fallen apart. For the records, I don’t adore Mycroft because of his power or station, I adore him because he….he _genuinely_ loves me. I can feel that with him, something I _never_ felt with arseholes like you!”

He had the satisfaction of watching Sherlock’s pained expression for a moment but it passed by as quickly as it came, showing the great detective at his cruelest, ruthless best. “Come with me and all this will be forgotten,” Sherlock spoke in a heavy, threatening voice, “ _Both_ of you.”

“No.”

“You were supposed to go to Seb, or to Arthur, or back home to your mam. You stopped by Mycroft’s door instead. Do you think I don’t know what that was about? You wanted to play off brother against brother!”

“I was about to die, damn it. So was Josh. I had taken those abortion meds…..all because of YOU. He was the closest and-and…..”

“And the most convenient to _stay on_ and _play house_ with?” Sherlock snorted.

“Oh just like you do that with John?” Jim spat back, “Come to think of it, you’ve been cheating on me with him and on him with me. You’re pathetic. I was once a horrid, evil man but at least I was out of my depths. You are far more dangerous, your evil is _planned, controlled, deliberate_.”

“Then know this,” Sherlock grasped Jim so hard by his biceps that he left finger marks on them. The Irishman couldn’t shake him off as he was holding the baby in his arms, his back pressed to the wall as Sherlock pressed up against his front in a dominating, threatening gesture. “I am not to be trifled with or ignored. Tomorrow I will come for the baby and you will either hand Scott over to me or you lose Mycroft too. He won’t be delighted to _know, see_ and _hear_ a few things.”

“P-Please…how will I live without my son?”

“Simple. _Don’t have to live without him_. Come with me, let’s start a new life together. You have enough and more cash and assets to live in super-luxury throughout your life and leave enough for Josh and even his kids to live like royalty. You don’t even need to work, like he’s planning to make you do. Also….I’m sure I’m better in bed than my brother dearest.”

Jim closed his eyes, trying to block out images of _this Sherlock_. He wanted to remember him as the gentle, kindly, caring being who had saved him from madness and self-destruction, not this beastly and selfish man who cared neither about his lover nor about his kin. When he reopened his eyes, Sherlock was gone. He was alone, _miserable_ , with Josh clutched tightly to his chest.

***

Mycroft entered the house and immediately knew something was wrong. The house was too dark, too quiet, too haunted by something unholy that was about to happen. He could smell the sadness in the air and the awkwardness with which Mrs. Devon responded to his greeting further firmed up his opinion that something had gone wrong or was about to go down that path. Feeling a bit irked that Jim was not cooperating with the suggestion of therapy and also equally concerned about the new father and the little babe who was barely seven weeks old, he loped up the stairs much faster than he usually did, bursting into the master bedroom.

“Where is Josh?” He asked breathlessly when he saw Jim sitting alone on the bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest, “I saw the nursery door open. It was dark, _he isn’t there_.”

“I sent him out with Mrs. Hudson, she said she’ll drop him back after dinner time,” Jim sounded calm, perhaps a bit too calm for Mycroft’s liking. The alpha stepped closer to the bed, measuring his steps and holding back on his words lest he made the omega bolt from there with the slightest of scares. Jim looked more fragile than he ever did before and at the same time determined, as if his mind had been made up about something. A sick feeling bubbled up his stomach and he stood by the edge of the bed, waiting for Jim to speak.

A slender hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, “Sit.”

Mycroft sat down. Jim took a deep breath, “I sent him away for a while on purpose. I needed to talk to you, tell you something.”

Mycroft pushed down the nervousness that threatened to overwhelm him. Had Jim decided to move in with Sherlock? If he had decided, Mycroft knew he wouldn’t be able to hold him back. They were a family and he would let them be so! But then Joshua and James would be gone. _What would his life be after that? He no longer knew how to live alone._

“There is something you must know,” Jim said in a tremulous voice, interrupting his thoughts, “Today I shall tell you _everything_. After knowing all the facts I shall leave the decision to you. Whatever you decide I won’t question, ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is coming to an end. I think this story might need alternate endings. I just can't seem to decide on one. 
> 
> Thanks all for dropping by, the comments, kudos, suggestions and encouragement.


	20. An alpha's care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things end as they should....or do they!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my friend IantoLives - Hope you feel better soon and resume your normal life buddy. My thoughts and prayers are with you. Wrote this finale super-fast for you, hope it brings a smile to your face.

“Going to Mycroft’s house?” John asked as Sherlock fixed his cufflinks and checked his hair for the umpteenth time in the mirror, “You’re really dressed up today. Is that jacket given by Jim? I see he had your initials and his own monogrammed in an entwined pattern on the front pocket, a very typical Moriarty move of possessiveness.”

“Even if I am…. _so_?”

Sherlock displayed his usual arrogance, not even glancing at the same John whom he had lain with the whole night and spent half the morning being ravished by. The beta, who knew he was quite an exception to most betas and far more aggressive and enterprising than the lot, didn’t react to the statement. Instead he responded with cool nonchalance. “So _nothing_ ,” as he strode into the bedroom with his mug of tea clutched firmly in his hands, “I suppose you are serious about taking your pound of flesh, aren’t you? If not Jim then at least Scott Joshua. It doesn’t matter to you how Jim feels about it, if it will stoke his depression and mania again, how Mycroft feels about it, how he’d have to make silly excuses to all his colleagues about why his newborn son just got gifted to his sibling.”

“You certainly have a way with words, don’t you?” Sherlock sneered, “Say every damned thing without making it sound like a barrage of accusations and insults hurled at me. Whose side are you on, Jawn?”

“ _Yours_ ,” John sipped his tea.

“Doesn’t _sound like it_.”

“Whatever you’re planning to do, doesn’t seem like _you._ ”

“So what do you want from me? Just roll over and lay myself out like a carpet, so they can walk over me? Not happening.”

“I think you could just drop the ball here and walk off,” John said as he finished his tea and got up from the edge of the bed where he was sitting, “It’s something you’ve never done on cases but frequently repeated in personal relationships. What’s wrong with doing it one more time?! At least in this case people would be happy to see you walk off! I saw Jim’s eyes, I read his face, he still does love you.”

Sherlock gave John a pointed glance, “Yeah,” he said with a haughty smile, “I know that.”

“Then why are you hell-bent on turning that into hatred?”

Sherlock was already walking towards the door. He briefly slowed down and let out a barking laughter. “Oh Jawn, you and your _simple_ mind. Sometimes you just amuse me, _a lot_.”

John’s brows knitted together as he tried to make sense of the statement and whatever he had observed about the detective earlier. The net history, the texts, the long periods of brooding, the late night violin playing that had reached obsessive levels, the pleading to be allowed to snort a bit of coke, _what did all of that add up to?_ “Breakfast is ready and on the table,” he called out loudly as he tried to piece the puzzle together, “I made your favorite Scotch eggs and ham sandwiches.”

“Later,” was all he heard before the front door slammed.

***

Sherlock got off from his motorcycle and took off his helmet, staring at the front lawn of Mycroft’s Hyde Park Mansion where breakfast had been laid outdoors on the glorious late spring/early summer morning, with the _Holmes family_ gathered around the colorful patio umbrellas and furniture. Mycroft had clearly adapted to Jim’s ways of dressing down at home. Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his brother in jeans and a short-sleeved form fitted T shirt. Jim was in three quarter shorts with pockets in front and the knees and an O-neck T shirt. Joshua was on a bouncing chair, colorful and vibrant, playing with a rattle that his little chubby hands clutched on to. He was two months old, almost.

Sherlock pushed down a wistful sadness he felt inside and cleared his throat, asking in a rather dictating, disdainful voice, “Is Scott ready to leave with me? Are his bags packed and ready?”

“ _Joshua James_ is not going anywhere,” Mycroft said sternly, standing up to his full height as his brother approached them. When Sherlock made to argue, the elder Holmes held up a hand and gazed right into his sibling’s eyes, “I mean it Sherlock. Joshua is James’ son, my son, our son, and he is not going anywhere, neither is James. I know you have a bunch of little offerings for me, to show how deranged Jim was, how he had no feelings for me whatsoever, how he had been trying to get you to cross over to the other side. Yes, I am aware and James has told me every single thing.”

Sherlock put his hands on his hips, “You’re pathetic. You still want him?”   
  


“Yes,” Mycroft stated calmly, a serene smile on his lips, “I am not bothered by his past. The James I know is the one I have lived with for the past year. The vulnerable omega, the hurt pregnant man who learned to rebuild his life, the heartbroken creature who made me aware that even I possess a heart, he is all I know and all I care about.”

“Yeah, take on a _readymade_ family,” Sherlock hissed, “Made by your _brother_.”

“Excuse me, I believe the word is _abandoned_ ,” Mycroft chuckled, “What you created by mistake and abandoned at will. I will not let my boys, neither of them, to go to a man who never cared about them in the first place and has now made them the scapegoats in some sick, twisted power game with his elder brother. If you truly care about them you’d let Jim choose, you’d offer Josh your love and support even if he’s known as my son.”

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth. For a change he had no words to speak of. As he struggled to get the right words out, Jim looked on at Mycroft as if overwhelmed by the man’s wisdom and composure. Mycroft looked at him with _reassurance_.

“I don’t care if you are James Isaac Moriarty or Richard Brooke, whether you were an unhinged criminal before or a nervous wreck later,” he said as he smiled at his mate, “What I do care about is what you are _now_ , what I have seen and known you to be. A man so full of life he taught me to _live_ instead of just _existing_ , a man so changed that I started to believe in _humanity_ again, a father who could do almost anything to protect his son and nurture him like a mother at the same time, devoting himself to the pregnancy with _single-minded focus_ , yes, that is the _James I fell in love with_. And I’d be damned if I let him, or _our son Joshua_ , get away from me. I shall fight the world, my superiors, my parents and _you too_ , brother mine, to keep them.”

“You fool,” Sherlock growled, lips curling up in disgust, “Love is a very dangerous disadvantage, you and I agreed once on this.”

“Yes and no,” Mycroft answered readily, “Provided you have fallen for the right one and treat them right, it can be an _advantage_ too.”

“Caring only brings pain.”

“Then we must be _resilient_ to that pain. But that’s no reason to _stop_ caring.”

“You could lose your job, your reputation, mummy and daddy might never speak to you again if they hear this…..”

“ _A price I am already prepared to pay_. I will take my family with me and we will start a new life somewhere in the United States or Canada or maybe the Bahamas. Both of us have money at our disposal and ideas to start new ventures. As long as we are together I don’t care if it’s London or Baltimore or Maui. Mummy will understand though, even if it takes her a few days to wrap her head around this, and if she does then so shall daddy. I have faith on our parents Sherlock, don’t underestimate their intelligence. That’s where we got ours from, right?”

Suddenly Sherlock whipped out a gun and pointed it straight at Jim, “Do as I say or…..”

“Or what?” Jim seemed perfectly calm, “You’re weak that way Sherly. Hurting people who matter to you or once did, _not your area_. That was _my area_ before and one I am perfectly willing to go back to, if my security or those of my husband and son are threatened.”

Mycroft’s security team was there in a flash and Sherlock found himself surrounded.

“Take him away,” Mycroft said in a pained voice, not looking at Sherlock lest he remembered the small curly haired boy who had been part of his childhood, “He must be kept about a hundred meters away from me, my partner, my son and all my properties and houses at all times. _This is an order_. Ensure the restraining orders are also acquired from a court of law.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me,” Sherlock pointed a finger in a rapid sequence of motions at both Mycroft and Jim, “Remember, I might be on the side of angels but never think I am one of them. I know how to get what I want, _mark my words_ , I know how to get what I want.”

As he was led away, a seemingly dazed Jim almost made a move to _follow him_ when Mycroft grabbed him and pulled him back. Jim swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to say the words ‘I still do love him and wish things didn’t end this way’. But Mycroft read his eyes, read into the omega’s body language, and whispered soothingly to him as he held him in his arms. “It’s okay, it’s alright, _even I don’t recognize my brother in that sniveling, vengeful and spiteful alpha_. He has hurt both of us but we can’t let him hurt Josh, can we? It’s best he stays away for a while. In a year or so we shall revisit things and if he wants to keep meeting his son sometimes, we will allow it as long as we are convinced……”

“That he means no harm,” Jim murmured, hugging Mycroft back, “Thank you Mikey.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Mycroft sighed into the dark crown of hairs, “For being honest, open and truthful. That was brave, that was very courageous. Your courage gave me the reason I needed to stand my ground and fend my brother off, something I should have done weeks ago.”

“Can we still call him Scott Joshua James Holmes.”

  
“Of course love. The father who helped conceive him is Sherlock, that will never change.”

Jim picked Joshua up from the bouncing chair and Mycroft promptly took the babe from his arms. “Do you think he will……?” Jim asked an unfinished question, but the meaning of it was not lost on Mycroft. “No,” Mycroft said as he kissed Jim on the lips, “I don’t think so. He is not that bad. He might be sour for a while, curse us, bitch about us to mummy or John, but he won’t take it further than that. Now isn’t Joshua tired, doesn’t he need his nap?”

Jim seemed perplexed and raised his brows, “But he just woke up a while ago…..?”

“So we can have some quality time together,” Mycroft waggled his brows, “I do miss resuming that part of our relationship, you know!”

A knowing grin spread over Jim’s pretty face and the Irishman winked, “Sebby is visiting us today. He’s on a short trip to London for business and will be happy to keep Josh for a while. Along with Mrs. Devon, of course. Gives us like…… _six or seven hours_?”

“Not _enough_ ,” Mycroft said with a wink back at his omega, “But that’s a good start!”

***

A pair of green eyes stared at the happy and content little family walking back into the house, Mrs. Devon hurrying after them with the bouncing chair, the remnants of their breakfast being picked up by another domestic help. “Mike sure knows how to live colonial style, plenty of people to run around and complete the errands,” said a voice right behind his shoulder.

Even for someone with steely nerves like Sherlock, it was a jump scare. He looked into John’s twinkling brown eyes and said, “Don’t you _sneak_ up on me like that. But yeah, I agree, Mycroft still lives like a British Lord from the 1890s, it’s always 1896 for him…..JAWN!!!”

John laughed and held up his camera phone, quickly snapping a pic of a slack-jawed and wide-eyed Sherlock. He showed it to the younger man with evident wickedness but also a hint of fondness. “There, this will remind me of the day I managed to get the great Sherlock Holmes to startle and nearly jump out of his skin. Wait a moment! You _realized only now_ that I have been tailing you, that I have more or less understood exactly what you have been up to in the past few days? _Really_? Have you been so preoccupied of late that you haven’t even noticed me sneaking up, investigating, listening in and sometimes dropping some clues here and there in our conversations?”

Sherlock exhaled and shook his head, “No.”

His voice was tight.

“Why did you do this if it hurts you so much inside?” John’s question was followed by a small rubbing motion between his shoulder blades and Sherlock leaned in to the touch. He felt rooted to the spot, a little distance from his brother’s house, a house he _no longer had access to_. It felt rather surreal and peculiar.

“I…ehm…I thought you’d be happy that I did this. Now I have only you.”

Realizing he had made it sound worse than intended, that he was using John as a fallback, he grabbed the man’s hands and said, “I wasn’t going to give you up Jawn. You know that, right?”

“I _do_ ,” John said, kissing Sherlock’s hands, “If I didn’t, trust me I wouldn’t be here. While I am not happy that you shared a part of your life with Jim, I’m not resentful because I understand the attraction you guys felt for each other. _It was mutual and inevitable_. I am glad you frolicked around now rather than start something years later, by the time the two of us are a……”

John looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock completed the sentence for him in the same breath. “……A couple. An odd, peculiar, hard to understand, quirky couple where one is always an asshole and the other a long-suffering do-gooder, that kind of couple!”

***

John had never felt so fulfilled and happy in life as he did now, watching Sherlock eat breakfast at lunch hour but eat to his heart’s content, washing it down with water, tea and freshly squeezed orange juice. John sat with a cup of tea, his third since the morning, and a slice of toast only half-eaten, watching his man and wondering how he got so lucky. At some point Sherlock looked at him and said through a mouthful, “Won’ yu eeth?”

“I _am_ eating,” John lied, taking a small but perfunctory bite of his toast, “Won’t you tell me why you staged such an elaborate _drama_ to make them hate you?”

He saw the look of wistfulness and longing in those green-blue eyes. He knew the wounds were raw and it would hurt Sherlock to talk about it, but better _now_ than _later_ and perhaps _never_. Like a white elephant the truth sat between them but they hadn’t discussed it, at least not until now. But John didn’t want to let it go and allow it to remain lingering in the air, like an unspoken understanding between them. Sometimes things had to be called out, _loud_. Sherlock threw a pleading glance at him but the good doctor ignored that, shaking his head as he said, “I _want_ to know Sherlock. At what point did you _change your mind?_ This wasn’t in your head back at the hospital, when we were sitting at the chapel. Later, as I peered into your laptop, your phone, your iPad, I realized you had added a lot of things to shopping carts but never purchased a single item. You weren’t _really_ planning to take Scott away, were you now?”

Sherlock swallowed his mouthful and drank some water. Then he fiddled with his cup of tea, stirring the liquid feverishly with his spoon until he had quite the whirlpool in his cup. John waited, patient and considerate, waiting for the detective to start speaking.

Finally he did. Without looking at John Sherlock said, “I noticed a few things which told me they were really in love, Jim and Mike. The first one was Mike’s reaction when Stella spoke about the complications. I wanted the baby to be safe but Mike was only worried about Jim.”

“Hmmm, now that you say it, I remember too. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. Then I saw my elder brother, who is squeamish to blood and can barely stand to look at a little cut, agree to be in the room with Jim as he was operated.”

“Yes, that was a big step.”

“A massive leap outside his comfort zone,” Sherlock sighed, “I saw how he called me in as he was beginning to pass out. He could have kept me out of it completely but he didn’t want Jim to be alone in there, even though he was under anesthesia.”

John nodded, threading the whole set of events together in his head. He could already assume which way this was going. “Right,” he said briefly, “I saw how he struck an unspoken truce with you, so Jim and the baby always had one Holmes man watching over them, in turns.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock’s voice was faraway, “I saw their expressions when Jim came around and when they saw the baby together for the first time. I was spying on them. They didn’t notice me but I noticed them and how they looked at each other. Jim had _never_ looked at _me_ like that. I’ve never seen Mycroft looking at _anyone_ like that. I began to see the special bond they share.”

“You could have just given up your claim, become an uncle to baby Scott than the father. But you kicked up a storm with them and made them miserable, and back here I couldn’t even get through to you. For days you seemed to be in a bubble, planning something.”

“This was _all_ I had been planning,” Sherlock replied, tilting his head slightly as he rested his cheek against his right fist, “To get them to a point where they’d loathe me instead of feeling sorry for me or miss me terribly. I knew Mycroft felt guilty in a way and sooner or later that guilt would have consumed him whole. I also saw that Jim still had feelings for me, unresolved issues with me, again these were factors that could easily make him miserable in the future. To be happy with each other, they didn’t need Sherlock’s ghost hovering around them. I know I did suggest a ménage-a-trois for us; you, me and Jim. But I do understand the impracticality of such a situation. If a marriage has three in it, it will be crowded.”

“You think they will marry?” John grinned.

“Give it a year,” Sherlock winced as he thought about it, but kept up a brave front.

“Do you think we will get an _invite_?” John queried, “To the wedding, I mean!”

“Give it _six months_ and we will be fine,” Sherlock said confidently, “So yes, I am pretty sure we will be invited to the wedding, even though we might not get a request to be the best man for either bridegroom. The first meeting or two will be awkward, then it will be back to square one again. But it was important to give them those six months, a welcome break from me I guess.”

“It was _equally_ important for me to get six months with you, _Jim-free_ ,” John confessed , “I love you Sherlock. I want us to be a proper couple, though I am aware you’ll never do PDA or make elaborate gestures, remember anniversaries or cook dinner. Maybe I don’t even _want_ those.”

“I wasn’t really going to blackmail him or snatch his son away, I am thankful you didn’t think me to be the _brute_ I showed myself as,” Sherlock choked up slightly with emotions. He was also glassy eyed. There were unshed tears there but he cleared his throat and thumbed the tears away, as if he had a lash in his eye and a bit of bread stuck in his food pipe.

“What you did was beyond noble, beyond generous,” John confessed, “I couldn’t have done something as selfless as that.”

“This was the only way to make them completely happy, without Jim calling me on the sly and wondering how things might have been had it been _me_ , or Mycroft thinking about me and what _he took away_ from his own sibling and feeling guilty half the time. It wasn’t the easiest of things to do but I saw no better way than this Jawn. I had to make them feel as if I was an unpardonable asshole. Anger is the best way to move on from someone. Even back then when I pushed Jim away I did have _his safety and wellbeing_ on my mind, and even this time around it was no different. I just wanted him and Scott to be happy. They say it’s an alpha’s duty to care for his family and _this was my way….to show I care._ It hurt a lot and it will keep aching for a few days but I guess I will move on sooner or later.”

“How about _sooner_?”

John’s sudden quip was met by a slightly bewildered Sherlock who blinked, “How?” When the doctor smiled somewhat mysteriously, Sherlock started to take off his shirt, assuming it would be a nice hot round of sex. A chuckling John stopped him, causing him to pout and frown deeply. “Oh Sherl,” John grinned, “You can be so hilarious at times! That will be done _too_ , but what I really meant was doing what we are good at, as a team? How about we accept the latest case request from a British born lady who lives in Budapest with her Hungarian husband? There was a successful attempt on her husband’s life.”

“ _Successful_? So he is gone?”

“Yup. That _is_ the case, to catch the murderer and recover something from them. It’s some priceless ship model, a French warship model to be precise. Supposedly there are only two such models in this world, one in the museum of Frankfurt and the other one with this family. They were handmade by none other than the French emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, to amuse himself as he was in exile in Elba! Beat that!”

Green eyes glowed, bow shaped lips spread into a smile, Sherlock’s boyish face lit up with excitement. “It must be worth a fortune,” he said, “If sold, it would be worth millions.”

John Watson nodded knowingly, “So you will be taking the case?”

The detective looked energized, “Of course I will. Now _that’s what_ I call living the Baker Street Boys’ life. Clients, cases, criminals!”

“Traveling, risking our necks, pouncing on suspects from dark corners, spending nights crouched down behind cars.”

“Yes, yes, I feel better already!” 

He appeared sexier and younger in his obvious delight, almost like the twenty-eight year old man John had met at Barts years ago. The blond man kissed Sherlock long and deep while his eager hands took the initiative of undoing the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt. He tossed the garment aside before nosing down the long column of his lover’s neck, reveling in the moans he heard. “ _That’s it_ ,” he whispered, pushing Sherlock down on the rug covered floor, “Just relax, enjoy and let me take care of you. No one deserves it more than you my love, _I swear_!”


End file.
